Welcome? To the Meeting? Or What Really Goes on During a Conference Call

Beep!  Beep-beep-beep-boo-beep-beep-beep.
“… and so I told him? that with the significant amount of scope-creep we were experiencing?  that we’d just have to throw it over the fence at some point?  Hello!  Who just joined us?”
“Hi, everyone.  It’s Pearl.  So sorry I'm late.”
“There she is!  Welcome, Pearl.  Let’s go ahead and start, shall we?
“I just want to thank everyone for calling in today?  We have so much to do? And so little time to do it?”
And just like that, I’ve stopped listening.  Because if there’s one thing that bothers me?  Is the upward inflection?  When none is called for?  It's her voice?  Causing me to reflect upon possible personal symptoms?  That would lead me to believe that I might have a need for high blood pressure medication?
WHAT DOES SHE WANT FROM ME?
The short, squat man in my head, the one prone to belching the alphabet in quiet spaces and waggling his eyebrows at passersby, perks up.
“Is that a question?  Pearl!  Psst!  Pearl!"
I sigh silently, distractedly.
"Pearl!  Is she, like, asking us, you know, a question?”
I try to tune him out, of course, as all right-thinking people should.  But he will not be denied.  "Her name?" he hisses.  "Is it, like, Psienna?  With a silent P at the front?"
I smirk, then stifle said smirk.  "Shut up,"
The phone crackles.  "... as you can see on Slide 17?  The blarf-hinged heinie-swaddler? is currently at..."
Hi giggles, digs into an ear with a hopeful and ultimately disappointed forefinger.  "Maybe it's Gnatalie."
I smile, picturing the silent G.  "Shut up."
"Can we make a grocery list?" he says.  "We're out of cat treats."
"... thus clearly indicating a need? for benchmarking?..."
I frown.  "I thought you said that cats didn't deserve treats."
The short, squat man in my head leans against the inside of my skull, wiping out third grade.  "They don't," he whispers.  "They're for me."
The phone makes a noise, something akin to a marble rolling around the inside of mayonnaise jar.  "So that is pretty much what we have time for?  Pearl?  Go ahead and set some time up and we'll go over this?  My calendar is open."
The short, squat man in my head howls with laughter.  "What?" I whisper to him.  "What the?"
He backs away, wiggling his blunt, pudgy fingers at me.  "Gotta run," he says.  "But your confusion?  Has made my day?"
"Shut up," I hiss.
I clear my throat.  "Sure thing," I say into the phone.  "If you could send me a quick e-mail, let me know any agenda or how you'd like the subject line to read..."
"Of course," she says.  "I'll send the materials as well."
Whew!
Good ol' Psienna.