I have been openly mocking the hell out of my good friend Ria for months. She is a “Twihard” (twi-TARD). Every chance I get I post funny cartoons to Facebook, I tease her in person regularly… Once, I mocked her in a text message; “Sorry” I said, “I’m Team Buffy”.
My aversion to the whole “Twilight Experience” began when I had the acute displeasure of seeing the first movie on a flight to somewhere, but I hadn’t bought headphones. I stared at the screen and marveled at how poor Bella couldn’t stop twitching, and poor Edward suffered over her apparent stench. I couldn’t for the life of me understand what all the fuss was about! I was determined that the Twilight Saga Bandwagon would pass me by. (Yes, another “bandwagon” thing- do you know I’ve never seen Titanic?)
Finally, after constant pestering, I accepted the loan of the novels from Ria. I decided I’d give my friend five pages, just five, and I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t return the collection smelling of vomit. I cracked the first cover Friday night before bed, and now at 5:30 pm on Tuesday, I’ve just finished the last book.
Damnit I’m ruined. I lost sleep this weekend. Up in the wee hours with the lamp on in the spare room, leaving my bewildered husband to shiver in an empty bed; I tore through the pages, reading until my eyes burned with fatigue. I carried it with me to wait for the kids at the bus stop. I hated to leave the house at all if I couldn’t go somewhere to sit and read in peace. What’s wrong with me? Is my own little life so dull and empty of romance and adventure that Twilight can take me away so easily? Of all the crazy things.
I look at my sweet husband now, and find myself slightly disappointed. He doesn’t sparkle at all. I’ve been bitten and now there’s no going back. Un-Fu**ing-Believable.