When you are 30 years old, watching a movie on a Monday afternoon offers a certain gleeful thrill, mostly because it shouldn’t be. Mondays are for work, not for hiding out in a darkened cinema, watching Liam Neeson hunt down sociopathic serial killers.
But when you are 30 years old, you also know that rules can be bent – especially the ones about Monday afternoons.
I just listened to that speech Emma Watson made at the U.N about gender equality. What are the chances that she would turn out to be a real-life Hermione?
But I’m so glad that she did. It made Harry Potter even more magical than it already is.
Dumbledore would be so proud.
I admire male friendships for their steadfastness, but even more so for their seeming ease. The most trying part of a male friendship seems to take place right at their very beginnings, when the parties involved have to decide if the other(s) are worthwhile. Once someone’s worthiness as a friend has been determined, it is pretty straightforward.
Make fun and laugh. Eat and drink together. Be good to one another. Be tight. Just be there.
This is such a stereotypical version of male friendships, and I am indeed looking in from the outside.
But from where I am standing, its all good – and I want that.