Some time ago, my cousin’s wife sent me a copy of an ad she saw on craigslist – a couple were looking to unload their hand-crafted BDSM playroom. This confused me. Why would she be sending me this? And that’s what I asked her.

“I know you read the Fifty Shades books,” was her answer, to which I replied, “I also read the Hannibal Lecter books. Want to come over for dinner Saturday?”

She laughed.  I laughed. And the awkward moment was over. But this interaction has lingered on the edges of my subconscious since. It begs the question: