Men get the credit for having midlife crises, but women have them, too. Or, at least that’s what I’m telling myself, because I spent all summer reveling in mine. At first I didn’t know what was happening … and I didn’t care. If I was going crazy, well, it was a fun kind of crazy, so I went with it. It didn’t occur to me that I was having a midlife crisis until the cravings started … for a convertible. I was disappointed that I was going to have such a prosaic crisis: every middle-aged guy wants a convertible, coupled with a gorgeous younger woman in the passenger seat. I wanted the same thing, except for the fictional vampire sitting next to me, his mop of bronze-colored hair blowing in the wind as he drove. Of course he would be driving. He’s pushy that way, or at least he is in the Twilight books.
Every day of my summer and fall was spent reading and re-reading those books and watching the Twilight movie over and over and over. When I got to my thirteenth viewing, my friend, John, said he was “concerned.” His criticism irked me, until he said that he was worried about the number thirteen and he urged me to watch the movie again, as quickly as possible. No problem agreeing to that.
My taste in music changed dramatically, too. I never used to listen to music on the radio; I only listened to talk radio. Now I was listening to current music, especially the Twilight and New Moon soundtracks, and discussing my admiration of Taylor Swift with my thirteen-year-old niece.
Now I'm throwing a Twilight party and counting the days until New Moon comes out. Say what you want about getting older, but I'm loving it, thanks to the Twilight Saga's books and movies.
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