“Look outside, and you’ll see the moon kissing Venus,” Mike called to tell me.
So I hung up, and went out on the roof. And Mike was right.
(Mostly right… “Kissing?” Let’s let him be poetic about it, okay? Maybe it’s one of those celebrity air-kisses, or like a brother/sister thing.)
Don’t get me wrong. I usually think the moon is great and all, but lately, it kinda won’t leave me alone. Everywhere I go, it’s right over my shoulder. Let me show you.
The other day, walking along, minding my own business, I looked up and found the moon looking STRAIGHT AT ME.
“Who are YOU staring at?” I shouted.
And then another day I got a funny feeling I was being followed, and I looked back really quick, and guess who tried to duck out of sight?
No, look lower.
Yup. The moon. We-re talking full-on stalker-y craziness. I’m telling you, if you hear of anything bad happening to me anytime soon, suspect number one should be the moon.
And now I feel like it’s making me a little paranoid. I’m seeing the moon EVERYWHERE. One example is this coconut cream pie I made. Hours of work and I couldn’t even enjoy it because it was so moon-looking (that, and the under-baked, chewy crust).
The only thing that helps is by fighting back. Instead of being a victim, I swallowed my fears (yes, by eating the pie; I made Mike help).
That doesn’t seem fair, though. How long can that continue before I become, well, “full moon-shaped?” My choices are to become a chalk outline, or to cast a round shadow?