It all started seven years ago. My wife and I were fresh out of college, sharing a floor of a ramshackle old house with a pack of friends both old and new. One of those friends was in the thrall of a certain boy-wizard, a fact I picked on her mercilessly for to no end – after all, it was a children’s book, and an obscenely popular one at that; there was simply no way it was any damn good. But Mimi was more formidable than her name may suggest. She bought me a copy, and threw down a challenge: if I read it, and did not buy myself the second one, I could mock her all I wanted.
So read it I did. My wife, for her part, mocked me as I’d mocked Mimi, but it didn’t matter – I was only reading it to win a bet. Of course, I had to admit, it wasn’t half-bad, but still, I was sure I’d coast to victory.
A few days later, I finished. It was close to midnight, and Kat was working late. When we spoke on the phone, I mentioned I might duck out to the CVS for a minute. “Are you sick?” she asked. I wasn’t. But Charlottesville closes shop early, and I was pretty sure the drugstore was my best bet to pick up the second Harry Potter.
Yeah, she mocked me. Until I made her the same bet. It wasn’t long before the mocking stopped.
Last night, Kat and I both finished the final installment of Rowling’s epic cycle. Yeah, we bought two. And you know what? I loved it. Say what you will, the woman spins one hell of a yarn. So thanks, Ms. Rowling, and thanks to Mimi, too. Sometimes, being wrong doesn’t suck at all.