Monday. Say no more, right? How about Monday with Harry Potter #7 sitting at home on your nightstand with only 70 pages between you and the dramatic conclusion? Clearly my Monday trumps yours.
Having fully resisted the urge to give into the consumer frenzy that is Harry Potter #7 (due in large part to extreme disappointment with books #5 and #6 and in small part with a desire to be more frugal about books), I finally managed to get my hands on a borrowed copy from a dear friend about a week ago. Being that I was in the throes of another dramatic conclusion (Oh, Anita Blake, what a ridiculously guilty pleasure you are), I let Mr. Countess have first crack at the book. He raced through it in short order and declared it a satisfying end to the saga, which, if you knew the vehemence with which he resisted, was shocking and compelling all at once. (I promise–no spoilers in this post!!)
I am now 70 pages from the end, and cruelest of cruelties, was forced to set down the monstrously thick novel and hurry myself off to work. The conclusion will have to wait until this evening. Fiddlesticks!
Of course, now that I am near the end, I find myself with that odd mixture of reluctance and greed that is oh so familiar. I don’t want it to end. I want these dearest of friends to go on and on, yet I am compelled to know what happens!
Whatever will satisfy my attentions once I am finished?