I love the harry potter books. i'm not going to lie. when i was 11 i secretly waited for the mail just hoping to receive my acceptance letter to hogwarts in a perfect little white envelope with Dumbledore's impeccable cursive on the front. alas it never came. i'm a lame muggle. which admittably is better than a squib. you want to hear something more embarrassing than this? well my friend caitlin and i also sent prepubescent love letters to Daniel Radcliffe when we were 12. our little tweener hearts fluttered when in return we received signed photographs of him with his shirt unbuttoned and wind whipping through his hair. we thought we had died and gone to heaven.
i threw mine out when i was thirteen.
but i still love harry potter. so much in fact that i just recently had a dream about harry potter. was i finally accepted to hogwarts? well no. was i hand in hand with daniel radcliffe while we defeated the "nevertobenamed" voldemort. definitely no. was i sharing a butterbeer and a laugh with ron and hermione at the three broomsticks? was i fighting off a hoard of dementors? sitting in dumbledore's office while he bestoys his wizardly wisdom on me? playing quidditch? no. no. no. and no.
i was at a bookstore asking the clerk how much the harry potter books were in hardback.
sigh.
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