It turns out that the book of magic was useless. The author had failed to run a spell check.
Once again, the pure and complete worship of Harry Potter manifests in our house as another comic-able moment. I mean, how dare I insinuate for even a second that other forms of literature, books that might perhaps be worth reading some day, well… that they exist!
We’re definitely socked into a phase in our house right now. That phase has something to do with a certain fictional boy wizard with a certain lighting bolt shaped scar and a certain cadre of magical friends… oh, alright. It’s Harry Potter. We’re in a definite Harry Potter phase in our house right now.
Books. Films. Costumes. Themed birthday party planning, even though the birthday party in question is almost half a year away. She makes spreadsheets about her fan-ness… is that even normal? I don’t even know!
Thus, I had this exact conversation with the Girl the other week.
See, I’ve had this weird streak of vacation …uh… let’s call them encounters. None of the celebrities in question would vaguely recall meeting me of course, but my side of the “well, that was cool” memory vault goes something like this: we went a cruise and Wil Wheaton was on board, we travelled to London and randomly stumbled upon Prince Charles and his new wife, I went to New York and was in a bar with Neil Patrick Harris, I went to New York again and had a lovely chat and some high-fives with Drew Barrymore in Central Park… you know… just not-famous me randomly meeting some genuinely actually-famous people.
I don’t write this to name drop (not completely) but rather to provide some context as to why, naturally, the Girl assumes that encountering famous people in real life is just a matter of… what? Maybe just willing it so…
That said, apparently what qualifies as “famous” to a ten year old is definitely a little narrower than what fit my definition.