Dolly Parton on Her Love For Beautiful Prostitutes and Delicious Squirrels

That time I interviewed an actual queen for the Germans.

In 2014, an editor from a German magazine called Süddeutsche Zeitung emailed and asked if I wanted to interview Dolly Parton. I said yes, because I’m not insane. A week later, they flew me to Nashville. The night before meeting Dolly, I went for a few drinks at Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge, where future country legends like Willie Nelson were discovered. I sat at the bar, listening to the house band—who, in a weird bit of kismet, played Parton’s “Tennessee Homesick Blues”—and I casually mentioned to the bartender that I was in town to interview Dolly Parton.

Within minutes, a beer was slid in front of me, compliments of a cowboy sitting a few stools away. He was about seven feet tall, unshaven and sunburned, wearing a battered Stetson hat. I nervously thanked him for the beer, and he tipped his hat at me and said, “Be nice to our Dolly.”

It was a sweet gesture, but it’s not like Dolly Parton needs protection. There’s a reason her nickname is the Iron Butterfly. Since moving to Nashville at just 18, she’s become an unstoppable force of nature, a country music juggernaut and hit-making machine with the most iconic breasts in history. She’s had 42 top ten albums, and over 110 hit singles, including classics like “I Will Always Love You,” “Jolene,” “9 to 5” and “Coat of Many Colors.” And those are just the ones I can name without Googling. Her latest full-player, “Rockstar,” is her third to reach the Top 10 on the Billboard 200 chart, debuting at number three.

I arrived an hour early for my pre-dawn interview with Parton, at Nashville’s Northstar Studios. When I walked into the room, Parton was already there, curled up barefoot on a chair, her seven-inch rhinestone high heels parked below her.

“It is such a delight to meet you, sweetie-pie,” she said, with bubbly enthusiasm that was almost jarring in its sincerity. Do they make human beings anymore who say “sweetie-pie” without being at least a little sarcastic?

I made bad jokes, and at some point asked if she’d pose for a photo with me, requesting that she cup my man-boobs because, y’know… everyone focuses on her breasts, but what if we shifted the focus, and instead it was about my weirdly large nips? Funny, right?

Not really. But because she’s Dolly Parton, she went along with the stupid gag.