El Steve called Beth the other day and sent a message to me through her: Enough with the Waffle House entries. I dunno what his problem is, but he actually threatened me over it: Stop with the entries or he’s going to call Beth every day while I’m out of town and ask her what she’s wearing.

Well, Steve-O, let me tell you something, buddy. I ask Beth that question all the time, and you know what her answer is? “I’m naked.” Every time. She’ll probably tell you the same thing, but don’t believe her. I know, I’ve made that mistake. She lies, you see. She’ll say she’s naked, but she’s really wearing sweats, or maybe a pair of ratty jeans and a sweater covered with dog hair and cat puke, or even a bathrobe and slippers. It’s just like when you call one of those “We’re 18!” chat lines — she’s rarely naked when she says she is. It’s her stock answer, so don’t be fooled. I tell you this to spare you my pain.

But go ahead, test me. I’m going to give you a tour of the local Waffle House, so I guess you’re going to have to call my wife. Enjoy both.

I’ll ease you into it. Imagine you’re driving down the highway. You’re feeling a little hungry, wondering where you might stop to eat. Then you see the sign up ahead:

“Yeah, Waffle House!” you think, “That sounds good!” So you take the next exit. You know you’re on the right track when you see the sign at the bottom of the off-ramp:

At the bottom of the exit, the finest restaurant in all the land hoves into view. Oops, it looks like you’ll be making a right turn from the left lane, but Waffle House inspires such lawlessness:

Getting closer… Here it is when you’re using the correct turn lane after using the wrong one:

You park. Here’s what it looks like from behind the wheel. You can see people inside already enjoying the finest food in the land:

You go inside. Welcome to Waffle House:

The waitress, Nikita, takes your order. She’s not your standard WH waitress — she has all her teeth. She’s trying to fit in by hiding them:

Sam cooks your order, Texas Cheesesteak sandwich and hash browns:

If you had friends, this is where they’d sit:

The finished product. Looks goooood (except for the pickles). How did you order those hashbrowns? Scattered, smothered, covered, chunked and topped. (In English that’s “scattered on the grill, smothered with diced onions, covered with a slice of American cheese, mixed with chunks of ham, and topped with a spoonful of Burt’s chili.):

A meal at Waffle House. You’re a happy man:

Want to hear some music while you eat? Drop a quarter in the jukebox. There’s one in every Waffle House:

Waffle House is a popular place. New customers come in while you’re eating:

Urp! Finished. Aaaahhhh:

All good things must end. You ask for the check:

Time to head back to your room. You won’t have to share the bathroom there, so you won’t need the beefy lock. Fortunately, your hotel is very close, so you’ll probably get there before the cramping begins:

…and that concludes our tour of the local Waffle House. I hope you enjoyed it. And Steve, I’ll tell Beth to expect your call. Even money says she’ll tell you she’s naked. Double or nothing that she’s not.