Let's travel back in time. It's just days after my twelfth birthday and I'm in a car, being moved away to a new, hot locale. While I was packing for the move, I found a book, an old classic that had been given to me that I'd kept but hadn't read yet. I was hooked from the first syllable, and I've been hooked ever since. It's a little story called Jane Eyre.

In all those years, I've loved this book as though it were a part of my body that I cannot fully function without - like a lung, or an aorta.

I've finally found a film version that lives up to my love. All other versions have been dead to me for some time now - I'd lost hope that anyone would ever successfully adapt the story to my liking. Masterpiece Theater put together a beautiful production circa 2006, and I'm in. I'm all in, baby. In fact, Auntie Sister had to warn me to "get off her nut sac" (her words, I would never say that b/c my wit is not biting enough to think of it) because I found out that she's never read it, never seen a version of it, and I'm appalled and must share it with her. So I keep bringing it up. And bringing it up. And bringing it up.

She'll read it. I know she'll read it. And then she'll see 2006 and love it. I know she'll love it.