"Daddy," Lydia announced, as her father set another can of Diet Coke on the corner of the desk he cleared for her visits to Nashville. "I’ve come to the realization that my plot line is totally screwed up. First comes the degree; then comes love, and marriage, and the five-time recycled baby carriage. Why didn't you remind me, before we promenaded up the aisle at St. Ed's?"
Clive Donatelli popped open a can of his own, pretending to sniff the Budweiser bouquet before savoring a hearty swallow. "Probably for the same reason I quit the CSO after eighteen years to peddle my bluegrass fiddling on Music Row. You followed your heart, Lyd. And I'm right proud of ye."
"Good Lord, Daddy! I love your music, I’ll grant you gladly, but must you talk like an escapee from the set of ‘Hee-Haw’?"
"And must you talk like eighteenth-century British gentry?" her father answered, good-naturedly. "You're just tired and cranky, Lydia. Too much work this weekend. Why don't you shut down that computer, kick off your shoes, and have a Bud with your old man? Tell me about Andrew and the chill'uns." Fatigue and crankiness radiated from Lydia's glare. "Children," Clive amended.
“Well,” began Lydia, pushing her Diet Coke behind the desk lamp and accepting the beer her father offered, “Andrew seems to have stabilized at six to eight babies a week. But I’ve finally learned to take advantage of the middle-of-the-night phone calls; once he leaves for the hospital, since I’m already awake, I can get a few extra uninterrupted hours of writing.” She took a sip of her Bud, wrinkling her nose reflexively. “Unless it’s a false alarm, that is. Then it’s only about 45 minutes – not enough to get my eighteenth-century British gentry groove on.”
[I like the country/gentry remarks. Actually, I have no problem with the dialogue, but was somewhat put off by the lengthy actions being described: as her father set another can of Diet Coke on the corner of the desk he cleared for her visits to Nashville; pretending to sniff the Budweiser bouquet before savoring a hearty swallow; pushing her Diet Coke behind the desk lamp and accepting the beer her father offered. If the action is incidental, it needn't be so detailed.]