Let Me Be Really Clear

We were driving through western Maryland, Joel in the backseat, Paul and I up front.
Joel was singing and chatting and playing with his new wrist bands, the current fad.

He stopped rather abruptly and said, "Mom, your nose is divine."

I turned around, smiled, and said, "Divine? Thanks." (I've never liked my schnoz.)

"Wait," he said, "what does divine mean?"

"Heavenly," I answered.

"No, no. I meant defined."

"Defined? What do you mean?" I asked, now the curious one.

"Let me be really clear," he said matter-of-factly. "Your nose is long."