Lisa writes: When my husband seemed to be on his deathbed, he asked if we could move to Mars when it became possible. I said yes. He survived. My husband believes our oral contract stands and must be fulfilled when the opportunity arrives. I believe it is null and void. ————
First, I’m glad your husband is OK! I can’t imagine the pain you both went through, and I suspect you will never fully escape the trauma of that time. At least not until you bathe in the glowing memory-erasure pools in the spa at Elon Musk’s Grand Resort at Olympus Mons. Because you are going to Mars. Sorry. You didn’t make a contract — you made a promise, and it sticks. Good news, though. I will bet you one million Musk-bucks that we will never go to Mars in my, your or your husband’s lifetimes. If I’m wrong, come find me in the Barsoom Lounge overlooking the Amazonis Planitia, and I will pay up.
