I was explaining to a friend the other day what, exactly, is so fantastic about Mrs. Piddlington. She’s my sister and all, but anyone who has siblings can tell you that that’s not a guarantee of adoration.
Anyway, here’s why: Mrs. P is the only person I know who not only puts up with my particular brand of lunacy, but also thinks it’s funny. On any given day, I’m liable to call her up and this conversation:
Mrs. Piddlington: Poops!
Mrs. Piddlington: What’s up?
Me: I’m getting fat.
Mrs. Piddlington: No!
Mrs. Piddlington: I’m sure not. You looked great when I saw you.
Me: In March? Listen, can you just tell me: Do I sound fat?
Mrs. Piddlington: (Soothingly.) You sound very thin.
Mrs. Piddlington: Too thin, maybe! Why don’t you eat something.
Me: OK, one more thing.
Mrs. Piddlington: Mmm hmmm?
Me: Do you think it’s possible that I’m totally riddled with tumors? Because I’ve been really tired lately.
Mrs: Piddlington: (Laughing.) I love you.
See that? Anyone else would have hung up! I love me some Mrs. P.