I don’t know what it says about me (well, I have a pretty solid idea), but some of my best friendships have been cultivated while in a food coma.
Once in a while, a few of my best and closest get together to cook, chat and eat. It doesn’t happen often, because our eating is legendary (to us, anyway); so much so that going home right away is not an option. At every such event, someone eventually wanders to the couch, or even straight to the floor; wherever looks like a good place for digestion. The rest of us follow. There are usually blankets and pillows, ridiculous conversations and, often, naps.