I live with the Master Question Asker. To quote his favourite teacher, “he holds the [unofficial] world record for most questions asked.“ Ironically, or maybe obviously, Teddy is exceptionally terrible at answering questions. He meets every question asked to him with a question of his own. A typical conversation with an acquaintance, by which I mean friend, by which I mean anyone we meet on the path of life, might go like this:
Friend: “Hi, Teddy. What have you been doing today?”
Teddy: “do you have cows?” (or kids or dogs etc)
Friend: “yes I have cows! Do you remember when I took you to see my cows?”
Teddy: “what kind of gloves do you use when you brand your cows?”
Many people roll with him, at least for a bit, and then often start asking him a question, sometimes over and over again until either they get an answer, or mostly they eventually just give up. Teddy knows how to win the question game, and it’s both annoying and endearing. When you can’t get an answer out of Teddy but he gets a dozen answers out of you, it feels like you’ve lost the conversation game. Yet some part of you feels good because someone asked about you and your life and your cows and your gloves in obsessive detail. Someone remembered you have a life and cows and gloves, and that feels good.
Ask the random stranger at the pool or the waitress at Rawhides. Ask the lady at church who was friends with your mother-in-law, and you might hear more about her than she planned to say. Ask the cashier at superstore, because you have half an hour to chat, that’s how many groceries you’re buying. Ask Mel at the drugstore about her cows (Teddy would be so proud of me, right?). Ask the doctor about her kids because you feel like you know them because they’re friends with your kid; as it turns out, she’s like every other mom and she really likes to talk about them. Ask the mom when you go buy apples from her kid.
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