I tried to duck “Fifty Shades of Grey.” I’m good at ignoring trends. By the time I got around to “The Sopranos,” I was able to watch six seasons in one marathon viewing.
But when, in a single 18-hour period, the woman sitting next to me on a flight to San Francisco, an always-sensible co-worker and a whole tableful of women at a benefit all asked if I had started it yet, I caved.
