I never had a relationship with Buffy. When I flipped past the show, I'd usually laugh at the silly demon makeup and keep going. When a friend tried to play Once More With Feeling in the car, I begged her not to. I barely glanced at this print of Angel when looking through Betty Turbo's awesome shop. But then my daughter started waking up to nurse at 5 a.m., and I started watching Angel on mute, half-asleep. Maybe it was seeing Pete Campbell with floppy hair. Or Dexter's wife vamping it up. But I started sneakily turning up the volume. The next thing I knew, I was DVRing the show, riveted when Cordelia gave birth to Jasmine, shocked when Spike reappeared, teary when Angel saw Connor with his new parents. Now I've plowed through the first season of Buffy on Netflix in just a few days. I can't wait to see Angel become Angelus before Buffy's eyes. And years after it offended my ears, I can't wait to hear Spike sing Rest in Peace.