I was debating the mama’s night out party vs. the impending logo deadline when Souster (think Soul/Sistah) called and mentioned the Harry Potter party at Our Favorite Locally Owned Bookstore Cafe. So I decided to go with her. Her husband, Goddess rest his soul, as she may have slain him by now, was late getting back to take over the care of her boys so we scooted into the store at 11:40 p.m. anticipating a giddy crowd of lightning bolt sporting 12 year olds and bedtime lax parents partying down.
Instead, we arrive to find that the clock had been set forward to 12:20, a snarky twenty year old with cooler hair than most people was taking down the Halloweeny poor-excuse-for-Hogwarts decor, and the cafe was closed. No cappucino to fuel souster’s all night novel marathon! No festival atmosphere! No anticipatory countdown to midnight! The fuckers just sold her the book and we left, deflated.
So at this moment she’s plowing through the Rowling goodness and the moment she finishes, it’s mine! All mine. My own. My precioussssssss. Erp. Wrong fandom;)
This post brought, a little painfully, to you by the small cut exactly in the spacebar spot on my thumb that I got cutting up a yummy yummy cantaloupe. The delicious melon is my new favorite food. I could eat twenty one after another. They were on my brain lately because of this and then this and so I bought one today. Damn you, clumsy knife-weilding me. Wastotallyworhitthoughaaaahthatssomuchbetter!