I don't know how I got so lucky but for some reason the U.S. Census Bureau must have decided it needed to single me out to obtain confidential information I wouldn't even tell my hairdresser.

For the record, the census is a federal tradition, dating back to 1790, instigated by George Washington. Its purpose was to enable the government to keep up with its citizens so it can establish pork barrel programs for them.

It's taken every ten years and it also determines our congressional representation according to the number of citizens in our county.

The census taker on the phone told me that one year participation in the census was so low in Missouri the number of its citizens was mistakenly written down as "17."

I'm not sure if they're even still a state.

At any rate, in my opinion the census is used by the government to justify doling out billions of dollars of our tax monies to justify and expand wasteful governmental programs.

I got the form a month ago and promptly threw it in the trash. The Bureau didn't give up on me, however, and began calling me at all hours of the day and night, harassing me as if my answers were vital to our national security.

They wore me down on about the seventh call. "This will only take a few minutes," the man said. "Okay, shoot," I said.

"How many live in your household?"

"Two," I told him, unless the children come for extended visits. Do dogs count? How about kangaroos? Coyotes? Pigs?

"No, ma'am, just people."

"What is your husband's annual income?" he asked.

I was ticked. This was really none of his business and the government knows exactly what my husband makes and takes a big hunk out of it every month before we ever get the check.

"Well, let's see," I said, "counting the money he gets from the marijuana fields and the moonshine still out back…."

"Excuse me?" he asked with a shrill little voice.

"Never mind, " I said. "What's the next question?"

He continued. "Do you own or rent?"

"Do we own or rent what?"

He went on to the next question. "

"What is your race, like white, black, Hispanic, and so on?" he said.

"Beige."

I sensed he might be getting a little perturbed with me but he hung in and so did I.

"How does your family dispose of its waste?" he asked.

"We flush it," I said.

"No, I mean, do you have sewer services or a septic tank?"

"Either way, we flush first," I told him.

"Um, how old are your grandparents, if alive?"

"Well, I said, "my grandfather is 125 and my grandmother is 112."

"My goodness," said the census taker, "your family certainly lives to some ripe old ages."

"Oh, they're not alive," I told him. "You said, 'if alive' and if they were alive that's how old they'd be."

"Would you like me to call back another time to finish?" he asked.

"Nope, I'd just as soon get this over with."

He was still asking me questions thirty minutes later and by then I was getting pretty tired of them.

Why must he know the brand of detergent I use? Whether or not my husband wears boxers or briefs? Do we prefer beef to pork? Do we own an AK-47?

I was beginning to smell a rat and told the man so.

"This is complete legitimate, ma'am, and I promise I only have a few more questions that won't take more than twenty minutes."

"I'm sorry," I told him, "I have to slop the hogs and they don't like waiting. You'll have to call again, maybe when I'm not here?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'd be glad to. What day and time would be convenient?"

"The twelfth of never?" I thought.

"How about next Tuesday at 9 p.m.? That's the next time I get an outpatient pass?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Here's a statistic for you. Census takers have no sense of humor.

I told him that if he needed any more information on my family he was welcomed to call the state home for the insane and they would give him all the info he needed.

"My, my, your ancestors must have been interesting people," he said, his voice trailing off.

"Well, I've been told our family coat of arms ties at the back. Is that normal?"

"Thank you, ma'am. I think I have all the information I need," the man said, and he hung up.

Well, I did my part for the country. Now I hope they'll leave me alone.

At least for ten years.