Ask me a question.
I needed something write about.
After thinking about it for a moment, she asks:
“Will you ever listen to me?”
Huh? What are you talking about? When in the past two years have I not listened to you?
She thinks for a moment then asks:
What will I dream about?
Tonight you’re going to dream about Annie your guinea pig slaying a dragon in order to protect you.
Will you, uhm, will Poe actually read to me?
Yes. Tomorrow night. It’s too late for it tonight.
Why? (insert your own whiny voice here)
Because – it’s too late – and you’re tired. Go to bed.
Why are you actually doing this, Moe?
I need something to write about, so I’m having you ask me questions.
“Why do you always have to do this to me? Why don’t you do this to DJ sometime! – and Indigo storms out of the room.
“Because I hate you, you know that. Now go tell your sister to come down and talk to me!”
DJ bounds into the room and says “What do you want, Moe?”
Ask me questions.
Okay. Do you like Frijole like Poe?
No. No one loves that cat like Poe. You know that. Plus, he hates me. That cat wants me out of the picture and if he had thumbs, he would off me while I slept.
Do you enjoy cuddling the chickens every day?
Uh, no. I get enough time with the chickens as I chase them down. I will not reward their bad behavior by cuddling them.
Do you kiss the chickens on their little chicken lips every day before breakfast?
DJ, we’ve been through this before. Chickens don’t have lips. And also, if you are kissing them before breakfast, would you at least make sure to brush your teeth afterward. I would hate for you to catch some sort of chicken hepatitis. Plus, you don’t know where their beaks have been.
Would you go rescue a chicken if it flew up into the high tree, then while trying to rescue it, you slipped and fell off a branch? Would you still try to rescue it?
First off, I wouldn’t climb a tree for the chicken. I would yell for your, Poe. He can get his own damn chicken out of the tree. If he wasn’t home, I would look for some sort of way to get the chicken out of the tree. I played softball – I suspect I could hit a chicken with a softball thus getting it out the tree.
Garbanzo’s response after hearing the answer to the last one:
“You leave my chickens alone!!!”
I don’t think this idea went as expected.
I did confirm once again that DJ needs professional help for her chicken obsession.
And, I learned to never have the kids ask questions while exhausted and hyped up on the soda.