As it turns out, I am a child. And so is my husband. We're apparently in complete denial about being in our 30s and so we've taken to behaving like children.
We realized this during a visit to Target the other night, where we were hoping to find an extra guitar for Hubs' Rock Band 2 (a video game widely enjoyed by youngsters everywhere) and the sequel to Twilight, which I recently tore through in about three days. There were only two paperback copies of "New Moon" left on the shelf and I almost had to have a throwdown with a couple of 14-year-old girls in order to get my copy. At the checkout, our hickeyed cashier eagerly told me the last book is the best one.
Hubs has taken to dancing around whenever I'm reading my book, and singing, "Oooh, look at me, I'm a little girl who looooooves vampires!"
To which I usually reply something like, "Whatever dude. Go bang on your fake drums some more."