Kiwi Herman

This morning I woke up with bright red nails and an all-too-familiar headache. Ned and I went over to our friend's house last night. Ned's car is still there. Ned is not comfortable when his car is left overnight. I am a little too comfortable with it. A casual difference between me and Ned...Anyway, I'll call our friends the Hermans. Kiwi Herman is my BFF.  Kiwi Herman and babysitters do not go hand in hand, so Ned and I frequently find ourselves in her kitchen at 2 a.m., over plates of Kiwi-concoctions. (Last night it was a dazzling array of animal crackers, pretzels, B.J.'s cheese- she described as "remarkably smooth" with a longing sigh- goldfish, mustard, and hot sauce. All served on her ottoman. Sitting on extra tall bar stools. Ned loved it.) Then she pulled a half-full bottle of Cherry Coke down (from...'08?), grabbed a bottle of Southern Comfort, and held them up with her eyebrow arched in a question. Never mind the empty 12-pack. Or the fact that her mouth was full of cheddar goldfish, so she was suggesting this silently. Kiwi Herman does not reflect on these details. And that is why I love her.
What I don't love is that today was supposed to be productive. Ned is being irritatingly productive. He must not have the haze in his mind that I do, as he has completely unrealistic expectations of me. Unload the dishwasher? I was highly offended. Check out Sabres tickets online? Neeeeeddddd. You're killin' me. I just want to enter online sweepstakes and blog.
This loss of a day happens every time Ned and I go to the Hermans. But by losing a day, I gained bright red nails, 11,000 calories, and another night with Kiwi. Worth it? Can I get a hellz yea?