The apple on the cover of Twilight tempted. John saw that it was pleasant to the eye and good for reading so he took it from the shelf and waited until a dark hour (because vampire books are best when opened after midnight) and he read through the nights until he was pale and dark purple circles grew under his eyes. Because the first bite was addicting, he passed the forbidden fruit to me and returned to the shelf of knowledge and plucked the sequential drivel, New Moon, Eclipse and Breaking Dawn.
When everyone else has turned in for the night, we flick on our flashlights and dive into the next chapter. And we wonder why. These books are pathetic. Trashy romance at its finest. Bella swoons. She bleeds. She breathes. She forgets to breathe. Edward breathes. His icy breath brushes her lips. He is stone. She a helpless disaster. This is a short story bloated into thousands of pages and we must read them all.
We read on our respective sofas and every once in a while I burst out into an impromptu reading with over-the-top-dramatics and excessive sighing.
The juicy parts can make you tear up if they are read aloud. Tear up because you’re laughing ‘til you can’t breathe.
John comes in the kitchen and lays a rock on the counter, “Look, Mom. It’s Edward.” We double over, gasping and holding our sides while the rest of the family looks around for our marbles. We’re pathetic.
John is almost through the final book. (Thank goodness. The end is in sight.) He’s named it Breaking Down because, well, that’s what happens. The characters fret and sigh and carry on for long enough to put the reader into a coma. John devised a plan to avoid that pitfall. When the melodrama threatens to overwhelm, he reads through a kaleidoscope.
When everyone else has turned in for the night, we flick on our flashlights and dive into the next chapter. And we wonder why. These books are pathetic. Trashy romance at its finest. Bella swoons. She bleeds. She breathes. She forgets to breathe. Edward breathes. His icy breath brushes her lips. He is stone. She a helpless disaster. This is a short story bloated into thousands of pages and we must read them all.
We read on our respective sofas and every once in a while I burst out into an impromptu reading with over-the-top-dramatics and excessive sighing.
“Edward, I know who I can’t live without.”
“But…”
I shook my head. “You don’t understand. You may be brave enough or strong enough to live without me, if that’s what’s best. But I could never be that self-sacrificing. I have to be with you. It’s the only way I can live.
The juicy parts can make you tear up if they are read aloud. Tear up because you’re laughing ‘til you can’t breathe.
John comes in the kitchen and lays a rock on the counter, “Look, Mom. It’s Edward.” We double over, gasping and holding our sides while the rest of the family looks around for our marbles. We’re pathetic.
John is almost through the final book. (Thank goodness. The end is in sight.) He’s named it Breaking Down because, well, that’s what happens. The characters fret and sigh and carry on for long enough to put the reader into a coma. John devised a plan to avoid that pitfall. When the melodrama threatens to overwhelm, he reads through a kaleidoscope.
If you use this trick, "Edward, don't you know that I love you." turns into "I don't know that I love you, Edward" Surprise! Maybe Bella does possess an ounce of common sense. I wonder if there is a market for this. (Do you know any books that might be improved using John's secret decoder method?)
In short, I don’t know how we got hooked but we’re having a one heck of a time with the clueless Miss B. Maybe Edward’s deadly hazardous venom can cross over into the real world. If so, count us among the hapless victims.
Comments
I love John's solution!!
Xandra