I’m sick of vampires.
I’m sick of men in long coats with middle-European accents and aristocratic bearing sporting pompous hair.
I’m sick of the sensitive ones who really long for love after centuries of ripping out the throats of virgins and who only need to find the right woman to toss aside the past and indulge in some of the most cringingly badly written sex in all of English literature.
I’m sick of the misunderstood teenage vampires who are just rebelling against the man.
I am sick to death of vampires.
So it came as a bit of a surprise to discover that I loved Let The Right One In