Dearest Mother and Father,
How are you? I hope you are well. How is Earth? I am in good spirits and trying my best to adapt to life on the Moon.
Moon School is different than I expected. There is no coffee here; moon people drink only tea. Diet Pepsi makes me woolly-minded and mirthful. No one knows what a Cheeto is and all potato chips come in cans. They pronounce “McDonalds” as “Mack Donalds.” On my first night here, I contracted Moon Cold, which isn’t like an Earth cold, but it makes you very sad and listless unless you drink an abundance of orange juice and look at pictures of flowers. I am better now, so you needn’t worry.
The students here are not unlike those back home. They do tease me for my Earth accent, but I find their Moon accents equally amusing. I have made a new friend and her name is Sally Maplethorpe. She is from the East Side of the Sea of Tranquility and her parents play violas in the only orchestra on the moon. She says I can spend Moon Thanksgiving with her and her family if I don’t want to take a rocket back to Earth. I think I shall accept her offer with your permission.
I believe I am fully prepared for my classes at Moon School, although I experienced the most curious event when enrolling. I inquired if any courses involving poetry were offered this semester and the professor shushed me and told to me in a hushed tone that poems are forbidden on the moon. I wish this had been explained to me earlier so as to avoid this awkward misunderstanding!
Please pet Rex for me, as—oddly—there are no dogs on the moon. Thank you for sending the protein pouches and freeze-dried ice cream, but please tell grandmother not to send cookies because they get stale on the postal shuttle.
Your loving daughter,
P.S. Please enjoy the enclosed moon rock. I found it walking to the library and it is quite beautiful!