Fifty Shames of Earl Grey: A Parody by Fanny Merkin

Author:Fanny Merkin [Merkin, Fanny]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Anna

I tap “send” and then close the Mail app. That’ll show the rich bastard.

I open the Words With Friends app.

There’s a smal avatar of Earl Grey. I tap on it, and it brings up a new screen: “Earl Grey has invited you to play a game. Would you like to accept?”

Do I accept? I have time to kil . It’s an easy enough game, and one that I’ve played before on my mom’s iPad. You’re given seven letters, each

with a different point value, and must place them on the board by connecting them with at least one letter of a word that the other player has spel ed.

For every letter you use, you get a new one in the next round. Perhaps I can vent some frustration at Earl Grey through the game.

I tap “yes.” I’l play, if only to beat him and show him he’s not as smart and clever as he thinks he is. Earl has played the first word: “KINK.” Of

course.

I look at the letters available to me. Hmmmm . . . I move four letters to the board, spel ing “PRICK” off one of his Ks. His move.

Almost immediately, I receive a notice that he has played. His word? “PRICKS.” Damn! Bastard! He just added an “S” to the end of my word. It’s a legal move, but one only a prick who wants to piggyback off someone else’s hard work would do.

I spel “CHEAP” off of the “C.” Because he’s a cheap prick, if he’s going to just add “S” to the end of every word I spel .

He plays “HO.” Oh, hell no.

I turn the iPad off. The nerve of that man! I head to the women’s restroom to fix my hair, which I can feel is out of control again. I should have tamed it before I left Earl Grey’s apartment, but I was in such a hurry to get out of his little whorehouse that I didn’t even put on my underwear—I

couldn’t find them. He’l probably cook them up for dinner or something. What a creep.

I lock the door behind me and stare at myself in the mirror. What does Earl Grey see in me? I’m so plain; I don’t wear any makeup. My skin is as

pale as Steve Jobs’ corpse.

“Anna,” a voice says from the closed stal behind me. It’s a voice so hunky that it can only be . . .

“Mr. Grey!” I say, turning my head to find him swinging the door open. The toilet flushes and he zips his pants up. His tousled hair looks more

magnificent than ever. And those eyes! They’re stil gray.

“I’m sorry, Anna. 'Ho’ was the only word I could spel ,” he says. “You should have seen what I had to work with.”

I shake my head. “You’re unbelievable. You could have spel ed 'O–H.’”

“Maybe.” He grins. “But you look so cute when you’re mad. Come sit with me,” he says, opening the door and ushering me out of the women’s

restroom.

“I’m waiting for someone,” I say.

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