[prompt: 'right' 11/1/2019]

"What's a 'different planet', Grandpa?"

"Well, it depends, sonny." Grandpa ruffles my hair as his eyes go all soft and marshmallowy. "Seems like the only thing those scientist fellows agree upon is every planet being different from the rest... just like folk, I guess."

I fold my arms across my chest, just like he does when he's thinking hard, and I lean against his funny, bony old knee. I love when he runs his fingers through his hair, making it stand up every which way. And the big wrinkles in his face deepen into great crags as he pushes his specs a bit higher on his nose - JUST before they fall off. Sometimes I nearly forget what I've asked, I get so fascinated by those specs teetering on the edge of a fall off his face.

"Do you mean like people coming from different countries? And they're other colours and things? And some have funny squinty eyes, and some slant right up into their hair. Is that what you mean 'different', Grandpa?"

"Well-ll yes... but there's another kind of different with people" And he leans his head and raises his bushy eyebrows so high they nearly touch his hair. I like when he does that. "Did you know there aren't two sets of fingerprints the same in the whole world, even though there are over seven billion people on Earth—"

"Did you count them, Grandpa?" I can't help interrupting him. I feel my eyes stretch really wide, and I can't help my mouth dropping open.

"Mmm, no..." Grandpa has a blush on his smooth old cheeks. "Actually, I uhrr... 'Googled' it."

"REALLY, Grandpa?" Wow, I know he messes around with the computer, I thought. But he only looks at the weather... I think. And he likes Facebook and seeing what the world is doing on his favourite news places. Oh... and playing card games. He loves card games on the computer. He does lots of that.

"Did you Google 'different planet', too Grandpa?" And I can see by the twinkle in his eye and the smirk that twists one edge of his mouth, that he did. "What did Mr. Goo say, Grandpa? What?"

"Ah well-ll-ll," and Grandpa strokes his chin. There's no beard there, but he didn't shave yet today and there's lots of stubble - mostly white all over the whiskery part of his face. I'm thinking he could be one of Father Christmas's helpers if he started growing his whiskers now.

As I think of Christmas and lollies and p-r-r-esents, I'm suddenly tired of our little chat, and I say, "Yes but, Grandpa... I can't remember all of that to say next time."

"Next time what, sonny?" Grandpa scrunches his eyebrows together, looking a tiny bit annoyed.

"Next time I don't understand a maths problem and teacher tells me it's like I come from a 'different planet'!"

Author's Note: I have to be honest and admit this is a re-run of a prompt story I wrote a couple of years ago. But I loved it [inspiration came from a couple of directions - and the Grandpa is SO Old McLarsen, it tickled me no end to repeat it, with only a few tweaks and embellishments].

I think you'll forgive me.