What in Cher’s name is a Tuesday 200?
Bunny sat upright, perfect posture as always, in the booth at Denny’s, a perma-grin nearly as wide as the Joker’s. The flickering fluorescents caused her bifocals to flash like lighting bugs.
“Scotty, these Skittles are so much better than my old Werthers.”
“They’re not Skittles, Grandma,” he said, stifling a laugh and taking the bag. “They’re edibles.”
“Where’s my Grand Slam Breakfast” She popped another that she’d palmed before losing the stash. “And why am I famished?”
A couple tables over, three teenagers stared. One whispered, “Isn’t that the school librarian? Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s just … over-caffeinated,” Scotty said, trying to keep chill.
Bunny leaned back, giggling like she’d just heard a dirty joke. “Oh! I taught some middle schoolers how to play Pinochle today! They were so confused, bless. I told them it’s like bridge, but with more drama!” On “drama”, she waved her arm in a flourish, nearly knocking over her coffee.
“Gram, remember, the word of the day is microdosing.”
“Oh, honey, I’m flying. Let’s microwave our way to the moon!”
She pointed to the ceiling, and he realized it was going to be a long adventure, trying to steer Grandma back to Earth.