“Did you see what I posted on your wall today? Did you? Did you, huh?”
I grinned and dug into my plate of unhealthy-as-hell but most delicious nachos that had been placed before me. We were at our favorite local dining establishment, our version of Luke’s place. And I knew immediately that the Corbster was referring to the “fake science” photo he had posted to my wall, which combined my obsession this past week around the Pluto New Horizons mission and Corb’s perpetual obsession with everything Arby’s.
As soon as I was done munching: “Yes, I saw your thing about Pluto and Arby’s.” After a long slurp of diet Coke: “That seems like a really inconvenient drive.”
Corb beamed, his enthusiasm for Arby’s rekindled. “I’d totally do it. It would be so worth it! Arby’s!”
“A nine year trip in a tin can for an Arby’s burger?” I wrinkled my nose and shuddered. “That sounds like absolute hell. I’d be so claustrophobic, watching my life spin away, stuck in a tiny little space. If I left Earth at 21, I’d be 39 by the time I arrived home. No burger is worth that.”
“Sign me up!” Ah, Corb is so lovely when he gets on these tangents. “That would be awesome!” And with that, he swooped in to steal one of my nachos.
“Seriously?” I frowned. “I think maybe I could last a year in space. But after twenty years, it would feel like I’d been buried alive.”
Corb clicked his heels with glee. “They’d give you way more room than a coffin! You’d be in a big Space station. I would totally do it. I wish I could do it right now!”
“Well, okay, but don’t think I’m going to leave the front light on for you if you go. Twenty years is a really long time to wait.”
“I’d bring back fries!”
Hmmm. They might be a little cold by the time he returned.
“Maybe if you brought back a beef and cheddar roast beef sandwich,” I replied.