A co-worker dropped this off for me today. She did it because I lent her three of my four Twilight books. And then we went to see "New Moon" together. Opening weekend. We stood in line, wearing business attire, surrounded by teenyboppers wearing black sweatshirts and Converse.
Let me be perfectly clear: I am not a goth, nor am I 15 and lonely. I don't cry or faint at the sight of Robert Pattinson (I might not even be able to spell his name correctly).
The superior, intellectual part of me doesn't even think the movies or books are all that good.
How, then, do I explain the dog-eared copies of the Saga on my bookshelf? The fact that three of them are in hardcover? My nagging urge to order additional copies for my Kindle?
What about that time, about a month back, when I rented the movie? Or the fact that I happen to know it's going to be on Shotime this Saturday, and can't figure out how to secretly record and watch it without the hubs' knowledge?
I can't explain any of it. The truth is that I love those damn stories.
And I'm only a little bit ashamed to admit it.
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