During the recuperation period from my surgery, I am not ashamed to admit that I read some Young Adult Fiction.

The Hunger Games, to be precise.

I had bought the e-book versions because a) I am a geek, b) I just had to know what all the fuss was about, and c) I was sort of hoping that the Munchkin would be able to read them also.  And any writing that falls into the YA category is vetted by me personally before he gets to read it.  I don’t think he needs to stumble upon some description of two teens having sexual relations at the age of 9.  There will be plenty of that in the years to come, I’m sure.

Uh, OK, I was just really distracted by that last sentence and reminded of my friend who has vowed never to talk to her son about sex.  Ever.  She cannot wrap her mind around the fact that our sons will be hitting puberty sooner rather than later.

Anyhoo, I burned through all three books in about four days, between snoozing sessions.

And now, pathetically, I cannot wait to see the movie.

Yeah, all the 14 year olds and I will be lining up at midnight.

And here I thought I had escaped all that by not reading any of the Twilight books.