He tapped the steering wheel in frustration at the slowing traffic.
Astronaut Shelly Fender had been in space for 461 days, fifteen hours, seven minutes—he glanced at his watch—and thirty-four seconds.
They’d miss the window to get her back to earth for Christmas with her little boy if he didn’t get into mission control posthaste. He was the flight director, and today was the last window of opportunity before Christmas.
Just ahead, a cow was walking nonchalantly down the freeway. He screeched his tires to avoid it, swerving a bit before coming to a stop in the shoulder.
Not one cow. A herd.
Ah … an overturned cattle truck up ahead.
Traffic would be a mess for hours. He punched numbers into his phone.
Ten minutes later, he heard a helicopter approaching.
It would be an unconventional commute, but that kid would not miss another Christmas with his mama.
Merry Christmas Blessings,
Picture credit: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mission_control_center.jpg