Say It Isn't So, St. Peter

I'm tootling down Interstate 10 to Orange happily singing along with my new "Favorite Hymns" CD . Okay, so that's dorkish. But I bought them recently when I was in a funk about the quality of the praise songs in the contemporary services I've had to attend recently, afraid that the classic hymns were about to become never-used antiques. Anyway, as I was saying, I was rolling along when suddenly the cellphone rang.

"Mom, Dad called me PLUMP!" quoth Babs.
"What?"
"He said I was 'a bit plump', do YOU think I'm plump?"

I know the right answer to this, even if El Jefe doesn't--"No."
"DAD--Mom says I'm not plump!"
(inaudible hollering back and forth).

Finally since I'm trying to drive, I say "Did you ASK him if he thought you were fat?"
I wasn't born yesterday, you see.
"Maybe."
"Well, then, what do you expect? You gave him a chance to get your goat."

Babs knows her dad is a big tease.
"HUMPH!" quoth Babs.

"Can I help you with anything else?"
"No."
"Okay, bye, I'll call when I get to Orange."

Sigh. Sometimes I think that most women's idea of Heaven would be to appear at the pearly gates and be greeted by St. Peter saying "Welcome! And you're NOT FAT!"