In case you’re wondering why every suburban housewife from Philadelphia to Connecticut has been sending all her calls straight to voice mail.

Fifty. Freaking. Shades.

And you thought we were all buying Kindle Fires to download Tolstoy.

Or, you know, Us Weekly.

Whatev.

Bottom line is that hordes of well turned-out housewives are running out to buy books they way they’d run out to buy, say, Missoni for Target.

Remember that debacle?

And if they can’t find their Fifty at a bookstore — what’s a bookstore? —  then they’re running out to buy Kindles.

Just so they can download these suckers.

So does this make E L James the new Oprah?

Or just the new V. C. Andrews?

Because Fifty is just as much a naughty page-turner as Flowers in the Attic was back in the 80s.

You know… minus the whole sex-with-your-brother thing.

Oh wait.

Did I not mention that there’s a lot of sex in these books?

Like, a lot.

As in, the books — oh yes, there are three of them — are basically one big huge throbbing sex scene with thin strips of plot woven through.

Plot that involves blindfolds, shackles, harnesses, leather whips and, um, spanking.

And that’s just the tip of Christian Grey iceberg, so to speak.

Who’s Christian Grey?

The hot, sexy, maniacally fucked up billionaire who stars in this series and likes his jeans ripped and low-slung, his women bound and submissive.

Are you still reading?

Or did you already click over to amazon?

Book Three comes out on January 19, btw.

That’s six days if you’re counting.

And you know you are.

But it’s avail for pre-order here.

It’s called Fifty Shades Freed.

And there’s a picture of handcuffs on the cover.

So stop biting your lip and go get it.

Like, now.

You can thank me laters, baby.