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a rodent problem, the whole ship is doomed.”
    Back in the mess hall Cotton eventually figured out we weren’t in any trouble and munched away guiltlessly on his “already paid for” sloppy joe. I tried for seconds but only made it halfway through the sandwich before my stomach became uncomfortably full. Cotton greedily ate three.
    “Come on, let’s go! ” I said.
    “But I wanna get another sloppy joe!” Cotton whined.
    “No, you’re full,” I said.
    “No I’m not, I want another one.”
    “No,” I said, pulling him to his feet. “We better get back or mom will scream at us for being late.”
    Mother screamed at us anyway. Not because we were late returning from the medical center but because she never got word that she didn’t need to take her drug test.
    “I told them I was on my period and asked if it would interfere with the test!” she scolded. “Could you imagine the embarrassment?”
    I imagine the doctor and the medical assistant, who were used t o all sorts of nasty bodily functions weren’t nearly as embarrassed about my mother’s period as I was.
    Mother screamed at us to unpack our bags. When we were done, I noticed the flashing white letters on the vid screen that gave instructions: “Welcome to the Magic Sky Daddy. Newly embarked staff please stow all luggage under racks. Do not unpack until artificial gravity is established after liftoff.”
    Mother screamed at us again to make us repack. Cotton’s repacking was lackluster, shirttails and underwear waistbands sticking out the top of his bag.
    Without warning, a yellow light built into the ceiling flashed and a loud siren blared. Mother jumped, and Cotton shrieked. The vid screen flashed , “liftoff instructions to follow in 3… 2… 1…”
    A perky blond woman appeared on the vid screen wearing some sort of strange uniform. It was dark blue, kind of like the ones the Cub Scouts wear, and looked like nothing worn by any of the actual crewmembers onboard the ship. She wore no insignia or badge of rank on her epaulettes, and the tight shirt accentuated the contours of womanly boobs that protruded forward and out like grain storage silos. Her blond froofy hairdo was at least thirty years out of date. The white and orange floral silk scarf wrapped elegantly around her neck certainly helped to extinguish any military feeling from her overall appearance.
    “Hello,” she said with way too much enthusiasm, “and welcome to our ship. In this video, I will describe important liftoff safety instructions, so please listen carefully.”
    “Hey look at that!” Cotton pointed. The chairs rolled, pushed by some sort of magnetic ghost hand to the wall opposite the vid screen, seatbacks set square against the wall. Small ports opened in the wall behind the chairs with a faint whirring noise revealing the straps and buckles of retractable restraints.
    “This ship’s reaction engines generate incredible thrust,” the woman said. The image on the vid screen shifted to a conical nozzle underneath a ship that looked nothing like the Magic Sky Daddy. The engine erupted with a flash, blue and white flames shot out the nozzle.
    “Although, modern space travel is among the safest forms of transportation to date, a small risk of injury still exists in the event of turbulent-mediated centrifugal yaw acceleration or during an emergency landing. The proper use of shoulder and hip restraints can dramatically reduce the risk o f injury or death.” The woman said unnaturally large smile. She proceeded to instruct us how to properly insert the seat belt’s male blade into the female slot of the buckle and adjust the tension. I figured it out without much difficulty. Cotton’s was way too tight, and Mother’s was too loose. To their credit, our tensioning devices were quite different from the ones in the video.
    The woman continued , “in the event of a water landing —”
    “Stick you head between your knees and kiss your butt goodbye!” Cotton