Let’s get one thing straight: I am not a Harry Potter fan.
Do I hate that little bespectacled wizard? No, of course not. But I’ve just never gotten into the books, never lusted after the next feature film, and never stayed up nights wondering just whether or not I could trust Severus Snape.
And yet, somehow virtually all of my closest friends are some of the biggest HP fiends you will ever meet. And not only are they baffled and disappointed by my inability to share in their fervor for debating the pros and cons Harry’s angst, some of them are downright annoyed.
Because, you see, I was born on July 31st. So was J.K. Rowling. So was Harry Potter.
Apparently this is the type of thing people envy. They think it’s the type of thing that was “wasted” on me. They think it’s something I “don’t deserve.”
This is especially true of my friend Erin, who recently (OK, last night) convinced me to attend the midnight showing of the sixth movie. Or, more accurately, the 12:40 A.M. showing. As in almost one in the morning. For an almost three-hour movie. On a Tuesday.
This is a photo of my feelings whilst at the show:
Just to clear up any confusion, THAT’S where life lesson #112 came from. *meaningful stare at Emma’s slanderous statements*
So I went. Because heck, it’s good to be a part of something bigger than yourself every now any then, right? The movie was decent, but not worth the sacrificed sleep, in my opinion. (Although, as I’ve explained, my scale is a little biased.)
The point is, now it’s the day after. And all I’ve learned is:
Life lesson #121: Two giant cups of coffee are not enough to combat Harry Potter-induced exhaustion.
And right now, I sort of do hate Harry Potter.