Our house has been taken over by vampires.
It was my fault, really, but Deborah was the first to go. Her ravenous appetite is a spectacle to behold. She... must... read... more! Fortunately, our vampires (and werewolves, and...) are strictly of the fictional variety that live in Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series, and aren't any more detrimental to our health than the witches and wizards of J.K. Rowling's creation that so occupied us not too long ago. I'd heard some buzz about the books over the last few years, but when people whose literary taste I respected (Yes, Bethany, I'm blaming you) started to gush over them, I figured it was time to investigate. While I was standing around in Wal-Mart, waiting for Deborah to show up at the appointed place, I picked up a copy and started reading it. Engaging enough. So I borrowed a copy from a friend and brought it home.
Not right away, at least. By the time I bought the second book, and dangled it in front of her as bait, Deborah had read the first book three times. By the time I had moseyed my way through the first book (which I enjoyed) Deborah was desperately searching for a store, library, friend — anyone — who could get her the third. My friend came through again, and she's now read the entire four-book series several times, and is off reading Stephenie Meyer's website as I write this.
I'm not sure if there's a moral to this tale, but it is cautionary... these books are addictive. Bring them home at the peril of your sanity, nutrition, and housekeeping.
Now, where was I? Ah, here we are, in book 3...