15 Signs That ’50 Shades’ Ruined Your Life



You updated your online dating profile to say that you’re looking for a guy who’s the state lottery, the cure for cancer, and the three wishes from Aladdin’s lamp all rolled into one. Good luck finding a match.


The first time you ate Krispy Kremes, you’re like, “I never wanted more, until I met you.”


You sign off work emails with “Laters, baby.”


Your boss said you did a good job on the presentation and you reply, “We aim to please.”


It’s Friday and your report is due. “Oh, fuck the paperwork.”


Your girlfriend broke up with her abusive boyfriend and all you could offer her was “Forget him. He’s 50 shades of fucked up. And not the Christian Grey kind.”


Every payday you’re like, “I’m rich. Get used to it.”


Whenever you’ve had too much to drink, you feel that your insides practically contort with potent, needy, liquid desire to pee.


You went to the dry cleaner’s and forgot to bring your receipt. Faced with an angry staff, you say, “Don’t get your panties in such a twist and give me back mine.”


Your wedding vow reads, “I want my world to start and end with you.”


When you take the elevator, you imagine every guy pushing you against the wall, pinning your hands above your head, and kissing you passionately. Yes, even the chubby guy who works in IT.


You measure your happiness based on the number of times your inner goddess does the merengue with some salsa moves. We all know how often that happens.


You wait in anticipation for the day you’re able to use the phrase “kinky fuckery,” whatever that means.


You bite your lips, all the time, hoping some sexy billionaire notices and whisks you away in a private helicopter. Let’s hope you don’t bleed to death before then.


You bookmark all the sex scenes and take notes each time you read, hoping to spice up your nonexistent sex life.