Day 12: Out of Control

And he’s off. ‘bertus, always on the verge of going but never leaving, has finally left, albeit temporarily, for training. I made him promise me a million times he’d send me his address so I could send him weekly Letters from a Sentimental Mop. He promised. I said I’d throw in Tall Tale Thuradays.

He’s always telling me I’m out of control.

A few days ago we visited the lake and sat there talking about aliens and spiders and other ridiculous things. I was wearing my Ender’s Game shirt.

“If you could ask an alien one question, what would it be?”

I didn’t skip a beat. “Where are the Missing and Lost and are they delicacies on your planet?”

He chuckled. He said that he’d ask them where they’d come from and what language they spoke and if there were more of them. Of course there were more, I responded. I thought of Astronomy class and how small we were and this big hunk of rock hurtling around that we called home. I thought of this one star, the sun, that we worshiped and feared and didn’t stare dead in the eye and how there are billions of them out there: stars and planets and beings.

The sun set. We wandered around a bit. Skirted around the topic of politics through the drive thru. Later, we pigged out on milkshakes and waffle fries to DJ Khaled’s new album.

[30 Day Writing Challenge]

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