Posted by Suzanne McMinn @ 5:05 am | Permalink
Tags: 52
Daily Farmhouse Journal
Me: Can I interview you?
52: Okay.
Me: Are you a real person?
52: That’s a rhetorical question.
Me: How come I can’t take your picture?
52: I don’t want my picture to be on the internet.
Me: But you’re so cute!
52: I still don’t want my picture on the internet.
Me: When you were a little kid, what did you want to be?
52: A big kid.
Me: Are you going to be difficult for the entire interview?
52: I didn’t realize it had started. Now that I know, probably.
Me: On a scale of one to ten, how much did you like me the first time we met?
52: 9.99.
Me: Why didn’t you like me more?
52: You made me nervous. That knocks off .01.
Me: How many times a day do you think about me?
52: Well, I sleep some, so I’ll have to say 18 x 60, or about 1080, assuming one thought per minute.
Me: Why don’t you think about me more?
52: Sometimes the thinking is continuous, so I can’t really quantify that very well.
Me: What about that time you were arrested for soliciting a prostitute? Are you willing to answer questions about that?
52: I have no recollection of such an occurrence.
Me: Okay, I was just checking. What’s your favorite thing I cook?
52: Grandmother Bread.
Me: What are you getting me for Valentine’s Day?
52: That’s for me to know….
Me: Is it an ornamental cow?
52: I don’t think so.
Me: Am I annoying you yet?
52: That’s for me to know, too.
Me: If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?
52: Is this for your Barbara Walters special?
Me: Yes, yes, it is. What can I talk about that will make you cry?
52: Happy or sad?
Me: Both.
52: Sad–if you told me to get lost. Happy–when you talk about our ancestors here, and about our future.
Me: (::recover from swoon::) What if you were a chicken? What kind of chicken would you be?
52: An old, tough one.
Me: What’s your favorite thing about me?
52: Your brain.
Me: As evidenced by these interview questions?
52: (::witness is non-responsive::)
If you’re not sure what this is about, read here and here and there and there! 
52: It was out Bear Fork a ways. I was probably six or so. Everybody knew about it. It was a big event. We went to see it, probably on a Sunday afternoon. It could eat with both mouths, and it had three eyes. The farmer who owned it kept it in a stall in his barn and let people come in to look. He lifted it over the stall gate and set it out for us to pet. His question was, “If I lift him over the gate every day, will there come a day when he’s just a little too heavy for me ?”
