Buzz Aldrin, notorious for his quick wit and impatience, cornered Neil Armstrong backstage at a lunar landing anniversary gala. “Neil, buddy, we need to talk about the audio.”
Neil, adjusting his tie nervously, blinked. “The audio? Buzz, it’s been, like, fifty years. What about it?”
“The blooper, man! Armstrong’s Moon Blooper!” Buzz practically vibrated with suppressed laughter. “Everyone remembers ‘One small step,’ but nobody remembers what you mumbled right after that.”
Neil sighed. “Buzz, I distinctly remember saying something profound about humanity’s reach and-”
“Nope!” Buzz cut him off, pulling out a crumpled napkin. “I wrote it down. Remember how your boot got stuck a little? You grumbled, ‘Dagnabbit, Velcro! Always ripping my socks.’”
Neil’s face flushed. “I did not!”
“Oh yes, you did! Control room was in stitches. They cut it, of course. Said it wasn’t ‘dignified.’ But I heard it. And I’ve treasured this secret for half a century!” Buzz cackled, unfolding the napkin. “Read it and weep, moon-walker.”
Neil snatched the napkin. Scrawled in Buzz’s messy handwriting were the words: “One small step…dagnabbit, Velcro! Always ripping my socks…one giant leap…” Neil crumpled the napkin back up. “This is slander!”
Just then, a young reporter approached. “Mr. Armstrong, Mr. Aldrin! Huge fans! I just have one quick question. What’s the one thing you remember most vividly about the moon?”
Buzz elbowed Neil in the ribs, beaming at the reporter. Neil took a deep breath, smoothed his tie, and said, with as much gravitas as he could muster, “The extraordinary grip of the lunar soil. You wouldn’t believe how well it…secured…your footwear.” He winked. Buzz choked on his own spit.
