I admit it. I've read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I read it the day it was released. I love those damn books.

It happened by accident. I was one of those people who disdained the adults who carried around Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone when it was first published 10 years ago. All I could think was, "It's kids' book, you sad, simple idiots." I refused to even pick it up.

Then there was this road trip with my sister and her kids. They were little. 5 and 7 years old. So we passed the time by reading them the damn Harry Potter books in the car. We started with the first one. I was rolling my eyes and hoping not to be too bored with the book. This was the summer that The Prisoner of Azkaban was published.

By the middle of the first book, I was hooked. We finished all three of the books by the time we came to the end of the road. I was miffed that the rest of the books weren't ready for my immediate consumption. I still kind of feel like books that are published in series should be published in two or three book blocks. But I managed to live with the suspense for a year and then went and bought The Goblet of Fire.

I only thought a year was too long. By the time Order of the Phoenix arrived in book stores, I was so put out that JK Rowling took more than a year to get a book out that I almost didn't buy it. I mean the nerve. But I did. And I read it in one sitting. I still divorced myself from the 'mania', though by not buying the books the moment they were published. I waited some months. I was casual about it. Until the Deathly Hallows.

I ordered it on Amazon almost as soon as it became available. I had guaranteed delivery on the 21st. I made no plans for the weekend so I could read the book. I was afraid that if I waited around I'd encounter spoilers. Dear god, how did this happen? I hate that I love them, but I love them, anyway. I was swept up in Pottermania. Oh, the shame. Not to diminish the quality of the books. They're good, but I'm still ashamed.

Hello, my name is Dorothy and I'm a Potterholic.



One decade ago today, my marriage officially ended. It was, and remains, one of the best days of my life. This sounds callous. However, had you been married to my ex-husband, you, too, would have been overjoyed about the day you were officially un-married to him. I won't go into detail about why he turned out to be so unsuitable as a husband, I will merely say that in the latter days of our marriage it would have left me more happy than sad if he'd been sucked into space and never heard from again.

Sadly, I couldn't accomplish never hearing from him again even after the gavel dropped on what was never wedded bliss. This makes only the second year (and it's not over yet) that I've not heard a word from him. I wanted him to leave me alone - hence the divorce. But he couldn't let it lie.

Initially, he called all the time. He called late at night, early in the morning, in the evening. Always acting like we had something to talk about. I stopped answering the phone. Then he'd leave messages asking where I was. Finally, I told him I didn't want to talk to him (because apparently he couldn't take a hint) and to stop calling. So he stopped. But we lived in the same city and we went to a lot of the same places, so I'd see him. He even went so far as to say to a guy I was dating, "So you're dating my wife."

That's bordering on frightening. Fortunately, my beau was very smart and cool-headed and could reply, "She's not your wife anymore," and walk away. But this kind of thing kept happening. And then a book off of my Amazon wishlist arrived at my door. I might have done something about that, but then I moved 2000 miles away. To San Francisco. Safe.

Or so I thought. But somehow he tracked me down. Again he called. Not all the time anymore, but enough to be irritating. Always, he would work in the question of why I hated him so much before I could get off the phone. I never bothered to answer. The fact was, and still is, that I don't hate him. I don't like him. But I don't hate him.

Then, MacWorld. He was in town for the expo, just thought he'd drop by and see if I was around. I was dismayed beyond words to pick up my phone to find him on the other end of the intercom. I told him that his behavior was inappropriate and that he needed to leave me alone. Then I hung up. He buzzed two times in a row before he left. Or maybe he waited outside for a while, I don't know. By the time I walked out my door again, he wasn't there.

After that came the longest period of silence to that point. I thought I was finally rid of him. I moved again. But we ended up in the same place again. I knew he was there, but if he didn't know I was there it wouldn't matter.

Apparently, he found out. I don't know how. He said he'd "heard" I was in town. Not from anyone I know. So I got some calls. I told him if he ever called me again I'd blow a rape whistle into the phone. It worked.

Or did it? The last time I actually saw him was on the front stoop of my apartment building about five years ago. He "was walking by" my building. I don't know how he knew it was my building. Creepy. I let loose on him. I called him names, among them was "infantile asshole" and "pushy motherfucker", and told him that if he ever showed up again, I would call the police.

Since then I've gotten a couple of calls a year until a couple of years ago. The last message he left me (on my cell phone, to which he magically had the number) said (among other things), "You don't have to be afraid to talk to me anymore. I'm married again." WTF? Maybe he's figured out how it's supposed to be done, finally.

I can say this though, he's given me the best 10th-anniversary-of-our-divorce gift ever by not calling.