When I reached his post he was standing by the door displaying a shiny chrome object with the lid open that might have been a relic from the Spanish Inquisition.“How do you like it?” He asked.“I would hate to get my foot caught in it,” I assured him. “What are you trapping?”“Trapping?” he cried. “I’m not trapping anything. It’s a waffle iron.”I’m a pancake man myself, but not wishing to offend I said, “Whatever turns you on, Herb.”“It’s not for me, Archy. I bought it for Binky’s housewarming.”Words failed me. This was clearly getting out of hand. If everyone in the McNally Building bought Binky a gift he could open a Circuit City.“Did Mrs. Trelawney suggest the waffle iron?”“She did,” he answered.“Rather pushy, don’t you think?”“You have to admit, Archy, it’s better than having to decide for yourself. I would have bought him a bottle of hooch.”“Well, you should have. Binky won’t know what to do with that contraption.”“It comes with an instruction book,”
