I’ve missed some of the major cultural phenomena of my time. New Kids on the Block? Liked the music, never crushed on Joey, Jonathan, Danny, Donny, etc. 90210? Couldn’t tell Brenda from Kelly. Harry Potter? Haven’t opened any of the books or seen any of the movies.
So I was somewhat proud of myself yesterday when I accepted a co-worker’s challenge to start the Twilight series. I don’t get the feeding frenzy behind this teen/tween novel about vampires and werewolves, but since everyone else in the world is taking it as the gospel, I figured I could give it a shot.
And even though I don’t actually like the book all that much, I can’t seem to put it down. I mean, nothing is actually happening. Bella looks at Edward. Edward looks at Bella. There’s longing. That’s about it. Maybe that’s exactly why this book is my new crack—I’m waiting for something to actually occur.
Until then, I’m stuck being the 29-year-old woman on the el, trying to hide the cover so no one will see she’s reading a book meant for teenagers.