“Oh, plow, not now!” pleaded Olivia, whom the driver considered a pointed marplot regarding a remunerative task on which he did not have spare time-cents to spend.
“Look, my daughter of bother!” retorted Olivia’s dad, your dalliance with banked snow, though devilishly charming, is precluding me from completing tasks at tow.
Then, Olivia’s dad found pause in his hard stare and noticed the joyful resplendence of his angel’s face as he synchronously off-turned the key—before stepping out of the cab to meet the first-born and find *his* happiness on par—*plop*. ; )
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