Daily Flash Fiction Challenge

“Helen, I figured it out!”

My husband is always figuring something out.

“What is it this time, George?”

Well, I know why I get hungry when I look at the moon.”

“I’ll bite. Why?”

“It's made of cheese.”

Oh, boy.

“Green cheese?” I ask.

“No. Yellow cheese. Like cheddar.”

“Really, George?”

The man is fifty-seven years old…

“George, how long have you been looking at the moon?”

“Fifty-seven years, give or take.”

I guided him over to the window.

“Look out the window and look up. What color is the moon?”

He looked up.

After a bit, he said, “My golly, it's orange. Well, Gouda has an orange casing—”

“It's not cheese, George!”

I swear he was dropped on his head when he was a baby. But I love him anyway.

“And, actually, it's grey when viewed from space,” I added.

“No way.”

“Way. And sometimes it looks white or black or blue.”

He scratched his head, then laughed.

“A black and blue moon. That's funny! Got hit by a meteor. Bam!”

“Black or blue, George.”

The doorbell rang.

Saved by the bell.

“The pizzas are here. I got a pepperoni and mushroom for me, and I got you a large, double cheese.”

“Now you’re talkin’,” he said as he headed for the door.

He came back holding the pizza boxes and whistling a tune.

Guess what he was whistling?

Yep. Blue Moon.

Gotta love him.