Starsky was stuck in a traffic jam. He wiped the sweat off his face. He would be late for Hutch’s birthday party.

Finally, he arrived at Hutch’s cottage and knocked, carefully holding a wrapped box.

“The later the evening, the sweeter the guests.” Hutch opened, a beer in his hand.

“How do you know?” Starsky countered, unwrapping his present: a guitar, made of chocolate.

Expectantly, he opened the box – and froze. The guitar had become the shape of a shrunk pear, due to the heat.

Hutch looked puzzled, then he smiled. “Thank you, buddy! It’s wonderful, and so are you.”

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