Grandma likes to see where my ideas take us. She helped me choose a photograph of the moon for this post.
Then she said the moon wasn’t made of green cheese.
I asked if she had been there.
She said no.
Rory has not been there either. She says somebody ought to check before Grandma rules out the cheese.
I would consider it my personal duty to go myself, cramped spaceship and all. But Grandma insists on leashes, and I have never seen one long enough to reach the moon.
What do you think the moon is made of? And how would you find out?
Profit has spoken.
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