Yes, exactly. "Aging" is the reason why certain someone cannot keep up with the fast-paced messaging metabolism of an eternal child—unlike you, aging people have their telomeres shortened every day; our time here is limited. I now understand your obsession with space-themed clothes: you are acclimating yourself for the only thing there will be left in here in a couple of eons: you and stardust (sounds like a plan).

In the meantime you can try and visit that lovely place in the Canary Islands. I warn you though; this place is villainy, and not even up to the standards imposed by Air BnB. We don't change your towels here. And we send thugs after you should you dare to give less than five stars in the review. Remember I also have the address for a certain lovely place and my thugs will start their search there.

But anyway. Of course I wrote the part thinking about you. But see, if I just handed it to you, you might get cocky and demand a bag full of peeled pistachios and a trailer with your name—and then threaten to not come out of the trailer until someone gets you a bigger trailer. I can't risk that. The studio can afford two trailers but we are way underbudgeted for a bag of peeled pistachios (damn they are expensive). So I opted for keeping your feet on the ground (a considerably challenging task since your center of gravity is pulling from somewhere on Saturn.)