I wish all conversations could be rewound and edited so I always say the perfect thing and the person I'm arguing with ends up looking like a dumbass:
//Michelle spills from the Fiesta, all puff and flounce, like a cloud of candyfloss. "Helen, honey, it's been ages!" she cries, her hair and bosom bouncing in unison. "Say, you're looking healthy, did you put on weight?" I am trying to drum up a wittier riposte than "possibly" when, fast as a well-mannered bullet, Lizzy blurts, "Silly you -- Helen's a slip of a thing!" Tina chimes, "But, MIchelle, aren't you filling out! A bit of what you fancy and all that!
/Michelle's fluffy pink coat trembles as if it's about to explode and she snarls, "I don't even touch what i fancy!" Tina glances at Michelle's fiance, who is standing behind his future wife as meek as a heavily sedated lamb, and croons, "Poor Marcus!"//
And later: //The only dignified response is for me to laugh breezily and mutter, "Tiny penis" under my breath.//
Hehe.
Per my discussion with stine last night, size does indeed matter.