It started something like this…
“Have you read the Twilight books?”
My best friend – a person I have trusted implicitly for a decade with all recommendations literary and cinematic – urged me to get into the Twilight series.
“Just pretend you’re buying a copy for someone else…” she said. “They’re for teens, but who cares. They’re ADDICTIVE!”
That was when we fell for Edward Cullen. For weeks we gossiped and analyzed and dissected Edward Cullen. We gave him the kind of scrutiny usually reserved for first-dates and ex-boyfriends. (And if my friend wants to deny it – I’ve got the Gmail archives to prove it). We were two grown women, the kind of women you see at the grocery store with Cheerios and lowfat milk in their carts (trans: pleasant enough, not outwardly harboring lust for fictional vampires) going swoon-eyed for a guy who wasn’t real. A fake guy.
That’s when we knew we had something – because, let’s be honest, Edward Cullen wasn’t our first.
Fake Guys. Oh how we heart those fake guys.