A friend called me late last night; and when I say “night” I’m being exceptionally generous. I’m assuming that deliriously boring ex-veejays and brogue accented yack-hacks had already begun entertaining the night owls. The waterworks just gushed out of the earpiece. Her boat and my boat charter the same waters. Mine has been in dry-dock, hers is still taking taking on water, and you are having a sorry metaphor driven into your temple with a water cannon. If you are familiar with me, you catch my drift. If you are not familiar with me, I’m a retired lush.

Last night, my role in life was to nod and say “Uh-huh” every ten seconds. I just did the math. I must have said “Uh-huh” two thousand one hundred and sixty times last night. That is a “Uh-huh” every ten seconds, from one in the morning until seven in the morning.

I am groggy today. Groggy, irritable, and writing weak water metaphors. Even though I was half asleep and only partially listening, which was fine, as all I really had to do was say “Uh-huh,” I was able to make out that she is not ready for dry-dock. I have ambivalent feelings about this. Dry-dock for her would mean two to three months of six hour long, one a.m. to 7 a.m. “Uh-huh” sessions for me. Number One needs his sleep. Number One also wishes number Two could say her peace in under two hours. Number One generally hates step programs and feels they do more damage than good, but kind of wishes there was a twelve step for Chattykathyism right now.