Jarrah is running a restaurant out of our living room. I believe it may be an Italian restaurant. She's a very generous host, and won't take no for an answer when she offers the soup du jour.
The menu varies, but you are usually offered a choice of juice or milk while being seated. Even if you demure, the response is "All right!" and she bustles away to the prep station (aka our Tupperware drawer) and, shortly thereafter, returns with your refreshment. She hands it to you with a triumphant "There!" and then waits while you drink it (no dawdling, please) before inquiring "Soup?" Even if you say, "Thanks, but I'm awfully full right now!" she responds "All right!" and races away again (no wonder she retains her girlish figure amidst so many prandial delights) and quickly returns. Now you have an important choice to make: "Fork? Or Boon?" She's flawlessly polite, whatever your decision, and you won't have to wait long to tuck into your meal.
The subsequent course offerings vary, but only slightly. There might be "Apple?" or "Chee?" or "Chock snack?" (the latter is how she describes her chocolate animal crackers) But the house special is "PEE-tzuh?" and here is where I have the biggest challenge keeping a straight face.
See, she offers the pizza like it's a delectation known only to angels, and she happens to have a private stash back in the kitchen that she's willing to share...but only with YOU. She leans in very close to your face, widens her eyes until they look like two shiny brown marbles, and says the magic word. "Pizza?" Here is where the proprietor of this restaurant is going to have difficulty turning a profit, for if one accepts this pizza, one will immediately be offered more...about seven or eight times. And you better believe the eighth offer will suffer from no deflation of enthusiasm, not the slightest lapse in service, to the detriment of this diner treating the moment with the gravity it certainly deserves. Occasionally, I throw a wrench in the works by saying "But Jarrah, I've already eaten seven pieces of pizza! I'm stuffed!"
To which the response is always "All right!" followed by the arrival of my eighth slice, as speedily as the first.