Last evening, I fielded two pesty calls for my wife, M.F., from our public relations librarian, Yappy McGlad-Hander. Both times that she called, I was peddling away on our exercise bike (post-holidays, I'm more of a FatDavid9.5, so I've been trying to shed some heft).

The first time that she called, I was just two minutes into my ride, and I would have stopped and fetched the MausFrau for her, but M.F. was out at one of her classes (she's working on getting her Ph.D. All hail Doctor MausFrau!).

The second time that Yappy called, the MausFrau was home, but I didn't want to hop off the bike because I'd almost finished with my ride. Our exchange went as follows:

Yappy McGlad-Hander: "Hi, FatD. Is your wife home yet, and can I talk to her?"

FatD: "She's home, but I can't take her the 'phone. I'm forty-nine minutes into a sixty-minute bike ride. Could you call her on her cell 'phone?"

Yappy (in the tone some women use when humoring recalcitrant little boys): "You're riding a bike? How sweet! Well, why don't you just ride your bike upstairs and give her the 'phone?"

FatD: "I can't."

Yappy (even more broadly patronizing): "Why ever not?"

FatD: "Well...for one thing, it's a stationary bike."