So, finally, I'm clueless

Last night, driving home from work, Helen asked me what was for dinner. I told her that dad was picking up pizza from the nearby Jet's Pizza.

Helen sighed. She has a favorite spot elsewhere, and Jet's is not it, and the entire family knows it. She prefers a local pizza parlor called Pizza Perfect, complete with a game room (where half of the arcade games and air hockey tables actually work). They do make a yummy New York style thin crust pizza. But you get more for your take-out money from Jet's, so we often go there instead.

Helen: Mom. It's called Pizza Perfect. Because the pizza? is PERFECT. Pizza. Perfect. Okay?

Jennie: (stifling urge to giggle) Okay.

(By the way, if you're a girl, you probably could guess that her line was delivered with THAT TONE.)