“Didja know Michael Jackson is an alien, Daddy?” the girl inquired, eyeing a tabloid magazine at the supermarket checkout.
“Nope. Didn’t it say the Clintons were aliens too?” the man responded, placing Chef Boyardee spaghetti on the moving belt.
“Yep, and that they adopted a baby alien.”
“Are aliens real?”
“Well if Michael Jackson’s one, then yes,” he answered, grinning.
The girl beamed back.
The girl, now grown, noticed a headline at the checkout newsstand: Obama’s Alien Daughter!
Her throat tightened. She suddenly longed to call him.
“Ma’am, is everything okay?” the cashier asked, holding a Chef Boyardee spaghetti can.