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Parting Glances: Sister goes chocolate dip

I'll say this for Sr. Scatterpin, Renegade Sisters of Mary, she has an immaculate (no pun intended) sense of timing. I was on an Easter egg hunt sponsored by Hell's Archangels Biker's Club when she cellphoned me last week.
"What are you doing, my child, during this most Holy of Holy Holidays?" (I can tell we're in for a serious conversation when she calls me 'my child." Usually it's, "Hi, Tootsie Roll. You ain't misbehavin' with the gay boys are you?")
"Well, to tell the truth, Sister. I'm collecting Easter eggs with a gaggle of butch bikers. It's an annual charity event called, Putting Your Eggs in One Basket. Proceeds go to the Foundation to Out Closeted Choir Directors. This year it's High Church Anglicans and Down-Low Pentecostals."
"Will wonders never cease. If you'll pardon my asking, dear boy" — Sister calls me dear boy only when she's going to ask a personal question — "I know you're A, not butch, and B, not a biker. Just how do you fit in? Are you Bunny of the Month or something? I mean: I wouldn't put it past you. I've seen you in that Playboy thong and rabbit ears. Remember last Halloween at the Knights of Columbus? Wow. I've never seen such a commotion over a bit of higgly-wiggly, non-parochial cottontail!"
"No, Sister. I'm here on assignment in Lansing, in front of the governor's mansion. The paper sent me. It's all in the line of duty. Human interest story. (Yes, yes. Bikers ARE human.) Who knows? Maybe I'll get a ride up and down the pike on some number's smooth-ridin' Harley. I even brought my designer crash helmet just in case. Might help my image. Plus, I'm something of an authority on baskets, Easter, and, herewith to you, Sister, yet unspecified."
"Skip the near occasion of sin, dear boy." (Uh oh, another earth-shaking question's about to be asked.) "I know there are chocolate bunnies, chocolate Easter eggs, chocolate M&Ms, but Fr. Manley Everhope told me at Recovering Catholic Bingo Night there's even a chocolate Jesus. Is he pulling my DKNY-hosery-enhanced leg?"
"Sister, I hope you realize that I should be gathering eggs for a worthy cause and paying better attention to Archangel baskets. But, if it'll help ease your mind. Father's right. There is indeed a chocolate Jesus — not Godiva, to be sure — but lifesize — and, would you believe it, naked. No loin cloth. Dolce & Gaybanna, or otherwise."
"Saints preserve us! Is he? Well, you know?"
"You mean, life size. Yes, indeedy. The artist, a New Yorker named — get this — Cosimo Cavallaro, calls his anatomically correct sculpture, 'My Sweet Jesus.' Quite a hullaballoo. The Church's up in arms. Cardinal Edward Egan's fit to be tied. Catholics appalled. The gallery cancelled it's Holy Week showing. But — it's helpful to look on the positive side of things — old Cosimo got thousands of e-mails of support."
"Well, it just goes to show you, Tootsie Roll. New York City probably has more Recovering Catholics per square inch — if you get my drift in this case — than either Rome and the Vatican lumped together. And that's a lot. One quickie, and I'll leave you to your, er, baskets. Is the Chocolate Jesus white chocolate or dark? That might have something to do with all the uproar and commotion."
"Actually Sister it's dark chocolate. Bittersweet at that. No cherry. No . . . Hey! Got to ring off now. BTL Playboy Bunny me, I'm riding sidesaddle into the sunset. (Rabbit redux. Rabbit redux.)

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