We’re going to the morgue! Dad said, and my sister and I groaned with disappointment.
Just kidding! He said, We’re going to the MOON!
You trickster! The family squealed in unison.
The car lifted from the bitumen and headed into the night sky – which took several hours because the night sky was one thousand miles to the east over Maine at the time.
As we crossed the border of Vacationland we were all cranky and sore from the long drive. Dad landed the car and told the moon to go shove-it. We spent the night at a Super 7.
Hey, I whispered across the bed to my sister, Let’s go to the morgue.