Confession #1- I love Harry Potter. In a slightly maniacal obsessive way. I started the series in mid November of this past year, and finished the last book on Christmas (as Santa was so thoughtful as to bring me the entire series!) It was roughly 4200 pages of reading, and I love every word.
Confession #2- I used to mock those who were infatuated with the Harry Potter series. The first encounter I had with a real fan was my Aunt Janet. I was in college and ZooMASS, and had gone to Boston to visit* my Aunt and Uncle. I had a book I was reading with me, and my Aunt said "I'm reading Harry Potter, it's one of the most wonderful books I've ever read. You should read it, I think you'd like it." I snubbed the idea. Wizardry and fantasy worlds didn't appeal to me, and besides, it was a childrens book. The thought of adults milling around Borders at midnight waiting for the new release in robes, with sticks whittled into wands and lightening bolts emblazoned on their heads just made me laugh. Where do those people come from?
What a silly girl I was.
Fast Forward to Present: A near and dear friend, whose literary opinion I value greatly insisted I give the books a whirl. I checked the first one out of the library, and it sat on my nightstand until it was due back. Feeling sorry for the book, I renewed my time with it, and a few nights later lo and behold there was nothing on TV and I had exhausted every single amusing thing on the interwebs, so I cracked open The Sorcerers Stone.
I stayed up all night reading that book. All night. I finally finished the book at almost four in the morning. It sucked me in. I couldn't put it down if I wanted to. It was literary crack.
The Hubbin' ridiculed me the next morning as I nursed my third cup of coffee. He sounded much like my pre-Harry Potter self. "You're such a NERD. Those books are for CHILDREN."
And so began my torrid love affair with the series. The Hubbin', who has never been much of a reader, and hasn't read a book for pleasure since...well....ever, was hesitantly eyeing up the first book after I declared that I wasn't watching the movies with him unless he read the series.
"Reading hurts my head," he told me. "I just can't get into it," "Why do I have to read the books? The movies are probably just as good," he said.
But still, he started. And hasn't stopped since. And it just warms my black heart to see him laying in bed with a book at night. Naturally, I used this opportunity to let my inner dork shine through, and as he was embedded into the second book, I carefully staged this in the shower for him to find when he got ready for work the next day:
The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir....Beware
I'm already trying to convince him to go as Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort for Halloween. And yes, that is my three year old daughters red Elmo bathtub paint that I used.
* Visit: Euphemism for going to eat all their food and abuse their washing machine with seven weeks worth of laundry