I have a confession to make: I am a closet Batman-maniac (phew, admitting I have a problem is the first step, although I don't think I really have one...). It all started with the movie "The Dark Knight" (curse you, Hollywood! Although the presence of super-hunks Christian Bale, Heath Ledger, and Aaron Eckhart didn't hurt...). I went in expecting another boring muscle man action flick and came out with a new purpose for living (as opposed to my old reasons, which were tic-tacs and computers). Right now I'm still in the "I-love-it-but-am-embarrassed-by-my-obsession" phase, the one where I cringe every time someone gets behind me in the line for library check out (rule number one: the library is an invaluable source for all things Batman and anything written before 1989). The librarian gives me THE LOOK, the one where she's thinking "Aren't you a little OLD for comic books?", to which I tele-speak back "THEY'RE GRAPHIC NOVELS,LADY! (rule number 2: graphic novel is just a fancy word to use as an excuse for not saying "comic book". Use it wisely). People behind us are staring and my mom starts to read off all of the titles of my ordered books to the entire world: "OH WHAT'S THIS, MORGAN, MY MATURE CHILD? 'BATMAN RETURNS', 'THE OBSESSION BOOK FOR WOULD-BE JOKER FREAKS', 'DARK KNIGHT RETURNS'....and so on. (rule number 3: never tell your mother that she's making a scene in public: I'M NOT MAKING A SCENE, DAMMIT! AT LEAST I'M NOT A BATMAN FREAK!) I do anticipate the day when, as a responsible, self assured adult, I'll be able to order things from Amazon like a chicken. (Mail dude: Delivery of sixteen Joker comic books for Morgan Stugart?" Me: What can you mean? I didn't order those puerile comic books, it must be a mistake! How droll! HAHAHAHAHAgimmethoserightnow) Or for when I'll be able to drive myself to book stores, without my mom hovering over me, telling me to read Harlequin romances like other, normal teenage girls.
Me, to cashier: Uh, sir, do yo have any *eyes dart around shiftily* Batman comics?
Cashier: WHAT WAS THAT?
Me: Uh, Batman comics?
Cashier: BATMAN?
Me: *Cringe/Nod*

And then, after he gets distracted by a request for Ray Bradbury books (Gawd, bookstores have no idea who he is! It took me forever to find "October Country"! *END RANT*), I will delicately lunge away to the comics section, trying to look calm and collected, periodically emitting phrases that imply that I am in no way looking for myself , things such as "Oh, I wonder which one little Tommy will like!". I will continue to say things like this as I go up to the cashier sheepishly and distract my self with candy. On my way out, he gives me that librarian look, which I return with the "GRAPHIC NOVEL!" look. I think I'm free, out of the danger zone, as I walk briskly ( by "briskly", I mean that I'm walking so fast that I frequently pass Joggers and guys on mopeds) down the sidewalk. But then, as I reach the door of my apartment, the guy from across the hall comes out. You know his type; he's the guy who badgers you about the pile of shoe boxes and empty Kids Cuisine packages gathering on your welcome mat, and who won't shut up about the yucky-yet-benign wasp nest that hangs over your side of the hall (okay, the entire hall). "Batman?", he says, peering into my bag, "Really?". I ignore him and, mortified beyond belief, struggle to open my front door (have you ever noticed how, whenever you get embarrassed, you forgot how to do simple things? This could probably explain a lot of things, like why Bill Clinton was elected.) , thinking all the way that I won't let this bother me and that I won't let this get in the way of our non-friendship, that I won't be childish and immature.
Cretin.
So I suppose I'm just another one of those closet fans, too nervous to admit it, but too in love to deny myself. We're out there, believe it or not.
But if you ever enter a bookstore, and happen to see a nervous, lunging girl in a Joker t-shirt, shouting " I HOPE BILLY OR WHATEVER-THE-HELL-HIS-NAME-IS LIKES THIS!", cringe/nodding the whole time, feel free to say hi.