Betrayal

It has come to my attention that my current interest in the Twilight Saga has not gone unnoticed by those who disapprove with this choice in reading material. I went to a wedding reception this evening where I briefly spoke with my friend, Ethel, upon entering the building. She warned me that her husband, Fred, had become aware of my recent readings and was most upset. She explained that he had come to believe I was one of the few non-crazy women in the world, what with my MST3K obsession and general interest in other "boy things" as Stephanie would put it (my friend, Bonny, pointed out that if he knew me was well as he claimed to, he never would have been able to reach the conclusion that I was less than insane to begin with; I concurred). The thought of me reducing myself to what both he and his wife call "pre-teen porn" was abhorrant to his sensitivies. Such amused me to no end.

To confirm Ethel's original assessment (lest I be deprived of humor if the answer changed), I checked in with her again before leaving the building. She further clarified that more than anything, Fred was "disappointed" in me. And as we all well know from our indoctrination via The Andy Griffith Show and Leave It to Beaver, having someone be disappointed in you is worse than being electrocuted while your murder victim's families witness your death.

As per the "pre-teen porn" angle, there were a couple of scenes I was surprised to see laid out in a book for 12-year-olds, too.

"My eyes narrowed as I clenched my eyebrows together into a single jagged line. "Hm. That was...saucy," I fretted to myself, convinced that the end of all that was good in my world had finally come to an end when the racy sentence concluded. My chest heaving, I wept openly for the rising generation of pre-teens who were willingly consorting with this brand of degrading literature. My only comfort in this time of uncertainty and misery was to turn to Edward, who was nearly--but not quite--as comfortable as a bag of brick bats in cement. I eagerly snuggled into his blindingly white arms and chest as his breath lulled me to sleep with its comforting and familiar aroma. His absolute-zero body temperature gave me hypothermia, but it was a sexy hypothermia so that was OK. He gently hummed the lullaby he'd written for me--composed no doubt during one of the hundreds of evenings he had illegally broken into my home to watch me sleep in a Ted Bundy-ish sort of "I love you so I stalk you" way. I suddenly felt his entire body tense and I knew that he was fighting his natural urge to kill me. Most people in my life had to fight the same urge on a daily basis, but with him it was different. It was different because he was hot.

"Sure, I had friends who hated themselves enough to hang out with me (I'm a bit of a Debbie Downer at times!), and even one kid who convinced himself that we were meant to be together, just because we "loved each other" and our relationship would be "normal" and "healthy" and "non-lethal." Whatever, screw him. "OH MY GOSH I CAN'T BELIEVE I JUST SAID THAT GET ME THE PHONE EDWARD I HAVE TO CALL JAKE AND TELL HIM I'M SORRY AND I LOVE HIM AND WON'T HE PLEASE LET ME STRING HIM ON JUST A LITTLE BIT LONGER?" Edward, who loves being used and immasculated, dialed for me, apologized for me, confessed his love to Jacob for me, willingly continued the charade with Jacob for me, and hung up with a kiss and a fond farewell. Isn't Edward the best?

"Edward is absolutely everything I want, need, and dream about when I'm not wanting, needing, and dreaming about Jacob. I can't believe I just thought that! I instantly apologized to Edward, who immediatley, and appropriately, blamed himself and begged me not to feel even an ounce less than absolute and utter joy every waking second of my life. My cornflakes didn't taste quite right this morning, throwing me into a deep depression for the rest of the afternoon. Edward took full responsibility for my less-than-satisfactory cereal experience and attempted suicide. I honestly appreciated the gesture, even if it didn't rectify the cornflake-failure situation. Since then we've been as excruciatingly happy as any living being and corpse can possibly be together, and all because he was willing to take his own life the second the corners of my mouth even hinted at being less than electrically thrilled. His rippling pectorals and I are soulmates, and I will never again allow them to leave my side for any reason at all, including bathroom breaks.

"I just hope he doesn't ask me to marry him, because honestly, is there anything worse in this world than being married to the person you love, worship, adore, and want to spend eternity with? Marriage. Ew. If only there was some way to just bind our love together, officially, perhaps with some kind of ceremony. Of course we'd need some sort of official person to perform our love-binding ceremony, and we should probably get dressed up a bit for it. Maybe I should even throw on a dress or something. I'd love it if my family and friends could witness this love-binding ceremony, and oo! we could even have cake afterwards! I'm so glad I thought of this!" And...scene.

If it helps, Fred, I myself am surprised that I not only actually read Twilight to begin with, but that I found myself enjoying it despite its many shortcomings. Many, many shortcomings. It's fun, lighthearted fair full of mythical creatures like vampires, werewolves, and teenagers who are capable of rational thought. I can't always read books like biographies of General Douglas MacArthur (rivetting as that was for me). Twilight and all its silliness is the perfect balm when life walks the fine line between sanity and insanity, creating havoc and damage to your mind along the way. It reverts your memory to a simpler time when your only responsibilites were keeping a clean room and keeping your siblings out of your stuff. It's childhood all over again...but with fewer Indian burns and wet willies.