Ryan F. Johnson

Ugh. You know I don’t like the limelight. I show up in the evening, provide just a bit of illumination—not too much! People are sleeping!—and then I hide all day. I’m not a grandstander, and I’m self-conscious about my size. About once a month, I see how big I’ve gotten and think, “Yikes, I can’t let people see me like this!” Then I disappear entirely for a couple of nights before peeking back out as a thin sliver, hoping no one notices.

Only this time? This time, when I’m feeling my absolute fattest, when I just want to be invisible while I practice some self-care? That’s when that attention-whoring bastard the Sun does his “hilarious” prank where he gets directly behind me and makes it look like I’m bigger than he is. “Whoa, Moon!” he always roars. “Down in front! You make a better door than you do a window!” And everyone down on Earth gathers to point and laugh.

The Sun has been doing this every few decades for thousands of years, just because he can. Like he’s not already the center of the solar system! Everybody worships him because he’s hot or whatever, but is that enough for him? Nooo, he gets insecure and bullies whoever’s smaller and weaker than him. Which means me, your old pal the Moon. You notice he doesn’t go picking on his fellow stars! That’s because he’s a yellow dwarf—or, in other words, a cowardly runt, as I call him! (Not to his face.)

So I’m sorry for all of this. I have no control over it. If I could make that giant flaming gas-ball grow up and mind his own business, believe me, I would.

P.S. Thank you for not sending guys in heavy boots to stomp around on me anymore. I’m happy that fad was short-lived.