Devotion

Well. Halfway across the world I may be, without Tex-Mex, places that give you ice with your soda, regular internet access, or Target, but I'll be damned if I didn't get my grubby little hands on HARRY POTTER. Yes, Friday night at midnight I was in line to buy the 7th and final book in the series at Tesco, which is like the European version of Wal-Mart.
The Ballad of Alyse and Harry began many years ago, when I was a little late jumping on the bandwagon, but by the time I had read number 4, I was hooked. Even when the last book came out, though, I was still cool enough to wait a day or two before snagging a copy for myself. I thought I was still, but I found myself, in fear that some greedy 10 year old would snag the last copy in Ireland, reserving by €5 deposit my own version in Dublin. And I was fine. I would have with my name on it The Book that I could pick up this week sometime when we made the drive into Dublin. But devotion is a funny thing. The seed of fear, the tiny roots of paranoia, began to grow that some killjoy bastard, working for Rupert Murdoch no doubt, would leak the ending on the front of some paper that I would not be able to avoid seeing and I wouldn't be able to read it with joy.
Which is why I stood in the rain Friday night with the rest of the Devoted to read it before I found out the ending. So technically I own 2 copies of the book.
Friends, that is devotion.