Fifty Shames of Earl Grey: A Parody

what I mean, right? He’s like a really rich caveman. Me. Want. Anna!
“What about your shopping list?” I ask.
“Forget it. I’ll have one of my assistants do my shopping.”
“Um—Mr. Grey—I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say ‛yes.’” He smiles at me again with that smiling smile of his, all of his teeth in a straight line. How I’d like to run my tongue along those teeth . . .
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes—oh yes, Mr. Grey!” I scream, throwing my smock off. It hits a customer riding a Rascal scooter in the face, and she crashes into a display of Katy Perry perfume. I pull my shirt over my nose to avoid choking on the vapors from the spilled perfume; Walmart suddenly smells like a prosti-tot pageant. Earl takes my hand in his and leads me out of the store before the hazmat team arrives.

Chapter Five
EARL GREY has a helicopter waiting for us in the Walmart parking lot. “Where’s the pilot?” I ask.
“Right here, baby,” he says, pointing two thumbs toward his chest. For the first time since he showed up in my checkout lane, I let my eyes wander the full length of his body. The bulge running down the side of his pants leg is quite noticeable. Then I notice a similar bulge running down the side of his other pants leg. Either he has a banana in each pocket, or he’s really happy to see me.
We step into the helicopter’s cockpit and he takes control of the controls like the controlling man he is. He flashes me that smile again, the one that makes me soak my sweatpants.
“I’ve never been in a helicopter before,” I say as the helicopter blades start spinning overhead. “Heck, I’ve never even flown on an airplane. This is so exciting, Mr. Grey.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet, Anna,” he says. It’s the first time he’s called me by my first name. Swoon. “Do you know what the Mile High Club is?”
I shake my head. “Is that some sort of country club for aviators?”
“Sort of,” he says, smirking.
Before I know it, we’re off the ground and soaring above the parking lot. The people are so small from this height; they look like ants (although they’re wearing clothes and have two legs instead of six). This is amazing. I’m in a helicopter with Earl Grey, the most handsomest man on the planet. And now he’s the most handsomest man in the air! I peer into the distance, and can see the Space Needle in faraway Seattle jutting above the skyline. We’re up so high, and the sun is so bright—
“Earl !” I shout.
“What!” he shouts back, over the roar of the helicopter’s massive blades.
“Watch out for the sun!”
“What!”
“I said, WATCH OUT FOR THE SUN!”
He shoots me a puzzled look.
“What? I’m not wearing sunscreen,” I say.
He shakes his head.
“Nevermind,” I mutter. He probably knows how close to the sun we can fly without getting burned. I hope.
As we begin our descent, I get butterflies in my stomach. I close my mouth, because I don’t want to pull a Kathleen and spew chunks all over Earl. He lands the helicopter at the Starbucks across the street from Walmart.
“We’re here,” Earl says wickedly. You might not think someone can say “we’re here” wickedly, but if you heard Earl say it, you would totes agree. He says everything wickedly.
We step out of the helicopter and he leads me, hand in hand, into the Starbucks. He’s not wearing his joy-buzzer, but his touch is still electric. I gaze into his gazing eyes gazingly like a gazelle gazing into another gazelle’s gazing gaze.
WHAM!
The next thing I know, I’m on my back on the concrete. He reaches a hand out to help me up. “Are you okay, baby?”
“I think so,” I say as he pulls me back to my feet. I was just gazing into your eyes too gazingly, and ran into the door. Stupid Anna!
Earl opens the door for me, and this time I walk through it instead of into it. “Grab us a table and I’ll grab the drinks,” he says. Another smirk! The only time I’ve seen someone smile this much was the time Kathleen and I did E. “What would you like?”
“Tea, please.”
“No coffee?”
“I drink coffee sometimes, but Starbucks’ coffee tastes like burnt ass,” I say.
“Actually, it tastes nothing like burnt ass, Anna.”
“And how would you know what burnt ass tastes like?”
He laughs. “That’s for me to know . . . and you to find out.”
I’m not sure I want to find out, but whatever.
He starts toward the counter, then stops. “I didn’t ask you what kind of tea you wanted,” he says to me.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I say. Now it’s my turn to smirk. “Earl Grey. Hot.”
“Do you take milk or sugar with that?” he asks, grinning.
I’ve lost track of what he’s trying to hint at. I think he’s literally asking if I want milk or sugar for my tea, but he could very well be asking if I want them for my ass. “No thanks,” I say.
He heads off toward the register as I sit down at an empty table. Now safely seated, I no longer have to worry about walking into any doors as I ogle him. I watch him order, and he orders wickedly. He is tall, muscular, and has the kind of shoulders you want to jump on and take a piggyback ride on. I watch as he pulls his credit card out of his wallet using his long fingers, which I swear have to be longer than his forearms.
A few minutes later, he brings my Earl Grey tea and his coffee to our table. Our table! I can’t believe I’m already thinking about us as a couple. What would our babies look like? Would they have long fingers too?
“Your tea, Anna,” he says. “If I may be so bold to ask: Why Earl Grey?”
I shake my head. “I like my tea like I like my men,” I say. Named Earl Grey. But I