Photo Copyright –Douglas M. MacIlroy
“Looks like a tennis ball on steroids,” Linda squinted at the gray blob.
Ethan rolled his eyes and turned the screen so it faced him again. “Definitely not a tennis ball.”
He shouldn’t have caved and showed her. Not that he ever did manage to withstand her pleading. Linda’s persistence could persuade a zebra to do away with its stripes.
“A cement globe?” She pressed.
Ethan shook his head.
“Am I at least getting warmer? Oh! Is it a post-global-warming thing?”
He sighed. It was hopeless. Might as well give it up.
“It’s Pluto, barely netted by the Sun.”