I was all prepared for my holiday. I’d gone to the Relief for Romania charity shop and found a used copy of Wicked )(which I’ve always wanted to read) and a general comedy fiction paperback. I’d eyed Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight at HMV one day when it was selling for six quid, but I resisted, safe from potential regression into my repressed 14-year-old-girl psyche.
But Red came home with a copy of Twilight. Apparently a woman he works with gave it to him to lend to me because he told her I wanted to read it.
(I’m already reading it.)