Ok. So… I’ve been thinking about the moon a lot lately, and frankly, I don’t trust it.
For starters, it only works nights. Except when it doesn’t. Sometimes it’s hanging around in the middle of the afternoon, doing absolutely nothing… just sitting there. Nobody seems concerned about this. If the sun showed up at midnight, people would lose their minds, but the moon gets a free pass because it’s been doing this for years.
And what exactly is its job?
I understand that it has something to do with the tides, which seems like a pretty important responsibility. But I’ve seen the ocean. It doesn’t appear to be taking instructions from anybody. Half the time it’s throwing itself at rocks, and the other half it’s trying to steal people’s sandals.
I suspect the moon is making the whole thing up.
Then there’s the matter of its shape. Some nights it’s round. Other nights it’s a banana. Occasionally it disappears altogether, and we’re expected to just carry on with our lives as though nothing has happened. Imagine if your neighbour’s house slowly vanished over the course of two weeks and then came back. There would be questions. Possibly a police report.
But the moon? Nobody bats an eye.
And don’t get me started on the man who supposedly lives up there.
Who is he? What’s his name? Does he pay rent? How does he get groceries? I’ve never once seen a delivery truck headed in that direction, and I find it difficult to believe he’s been surviving on canned soup since 1969.
Actually, while we’re on the subject, why did we stop going there?
We sent people to the moon; they walked around, hit a few golf balls, collected some rocks, and then everybody apparently agreed we’d seen enough. That’s like driving across the country to visit your grandmother, looking through her front window, and deciding the trip was a success.
I would have at least checked the fridge.
There are other things that bother me, too. For example, why do we call it the moon? Other planets have moons with proper names. Jupiter has Europa, Io, Ganymede, and a whole collection of others. Ours is just Moon. That’s not a name. That’s a description.
It’s like naming your dog Dog. Which, now that I think about it, would probably save a lot of confusion at the veterinarian.
“Who’s next?”
“Dog.”
“Which dog?”
“Yes.”
Anyway, I’ve decided that the moon owes us an explanation. Nothing dramatic. Just a short press conference. Maybe twenty minutes. A few questions from the public. I’d particularly like to know why it follows my car when I’m driving but refuses to follow me into the grocery store.
That seems personal.
I’ve written a letter, although I’m not entirely sure where to send it. The post office was surprisingly unhelpful. Apparently, “The Moon, Upstairs, Space” isn’t a recognized mailing address.
Typical government bureaucracy.
In the meantime, I’ll continue watching it. Not in a threatening way. Just keeping an eye on things. I think that’s reasonable, considering the moon has been keeping an eye on us for several billion years.
And if it suddenly disappears one night, don’t come crying to me.
I’ve been asking questions.
Nobody wanted to listen.
