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The Trouble with Landing Gear Souffle (REHASH)
The Dish is a Rehash of The Chia Room
Ingredients:
boss
astronaut
anniversary
flour
chia seeds
cheese
tennis ball
Spice Pack:
1/4 smidge of anger
1 teaspoon of depression
1/3 dollop of jealousy
1/8 dash of ennui
We almost broke up during the landing in gale force winds coming off the surface of this green sphere. The trouble wasn’t so much the landing gear as it was the poem I had written for her. A little cheesey limerick -- of course, all my limericks were cheesy.
Boom
The planet surface quaked as it again inexplicably began to reverse direction. Yes, it was our anniversary. Not the best day to have to be coming to rest on a newly discovered planet -- especially not one that Dr. Syker had discovered. Pluto, I hated that guy.
Boom
And the planet reversed course again. “A little unexpected,” she said, her face covered in flour -- as a white cloud erupted from the space bagels. Space bagels. They always remind me of our first meeting in the space commissary-- when we were introduced by Dr. Syker.
Boom
And it jarred back. Damn that Syker. With his NIH grants and his NASA t-shirts and his JPL penlight and his way of telling my wife cool factoids about these new green planets -- Did you know this one can practically bounce? -- Did you know this one can spin backwards? -- factoids that she could dismiss, like they were chia seeds when she wanted to make me feel a little better.
Boom
“How could a planet stand this much conflicting motion?” I asked.
“How can we?” she replied.
“Oh, dear, do we have to get all metaphorical?” I asked, “It’s.. It’s our anniversary.”
And then we heard it -- Loud and clear as if it were being announced by some interplanetary beings -- some deities -- some gods:
A voice that almost deafened us -- that had us clutching our ears with our hands -- that had us cringing back to our corners of the ship -- but then at least we knew -- we could see what we were up against.
“40 -- Love.”
Ingredients:
boss
astronaut
anniversary
flour
chia seeds
cheese
tennis ball
Spice Pack:
1/4 smidge of anger
1 teaspoon of depression
1/3 dollop of jealousy
1/8 dash of ennui
We almost broke up during the landing in gale force winds coming off the surface of this green sphere. The trouble wasn’t so much the landing gear as it was the poem I had written for her. A little cheesey limerick -- of course, all my limericks were cheesy.
Boom
The planet surface quaked as it again inexplicably began to reverse direction. Yes, it was our anniversary. Not the best day to have to be coming to rest on a newly discovered planet -- especially not one that Dr. Syker had discovered. Pluto, I hated that guy.
Boom
And the planet reversed course again. “A little unexpected,” she said, her face covered in flour -- as a white cloud erupted from the space bagels. Space bagels. They always remind me of our first meeting in the space commissary-- when we were introduced by Dr. Syker.
Boom
And it jarred back. Damn that Syker. With his NIH grants and his NASA t-shirts and his JPL penlight and his way of telling my wife cool factoids about these new green planets -- Did you know this one can practically bounce? -- Did you know this one can spin backwards? -- factoids that she could dismiss, like they were chia seeds when she wanted to make me feel a little better.
Boom
“How could a planet stand this much conflicting motion?” I asked.
“How can we?” she replied.
“Oh, dear, do we have to get all metaphorical?” I asked, “It’s.. It’s our anniversary.”
And then we heard it -- Loud and clear as if it were being announced by some interplanetary beings -- some deities -- some gods:
A voice that almost deafened us -- that had us clutching our ears with our hands -- that had us cringing back to our corners of the ship -- but then at least we knew -- we could see what we were up against.
“40 -- Love.”