The kind of things I talk about at a child's first communion dinner, or why I am going to hell (part 467)

This past weekend I was at a dinner to celebrate the first communion of the daughter of an old friend of mine. I used to work with her and also with another couple who was seated with us.

While my friend and her daughter were making the rounds talking to guests at other tables, we got on the subject of Coldstone Creamery. My friend Goat said that three Coldstone's had gone out of business in their neighborhood. When TLB and I said we were surprised, Goat's boyfriend Guy said it was because the cops had found out about the glory holes in the bathrooms.*

This prompted Guy and I to create a new Coldstone creation, the Glory Hole. We decided that it should be a rectangular slab of ice cream, dipped in chocolate to make it hard like a bathroom stall wall. There would be a hole in the middle with a cream wafer sticking out, topped with a dab of whipped cream.

"And you can't ask for it," I said. "You have to signal the clerk that's what you want."

"Yeah, you have to make a couple of hand gestures and tap your foot," Guy added.

It would also only be available in the Gotta Have It size.

Lord only know what we'll talk about if we're invited back for confirmation.

*Greetings, Coldstone legal team! Please be aware that Mssr. Guy's comment about the presence of glory holes in Chicago-area Coldstone Creameries was a joke and not at all a slander against the clean, well-lit, handjob-free restrooms at your fine chain of ice cream parlors.