Best Gifts for a Car-Napping Ice Cream Friend (and Secret Pigeon Real Estate Tycoon)
Clever, practical gifts for a friend who naps in cars, cooks rarely, loves ice cream, and dreams of prime statue real estate. All $20–$50.
A road-trip passenger who falls asleep before the first exit, considers ice cream a food group, and, if reincarnated as a pigeon, would hustle statue listings.
The Car-Nap Royalty Kit
A cooling memory-foam neck pillow, plush seat-belt cushion, and contoured blackout eye mask so their highway siesta is regal, not wrinkled.
Highway Siesta, Upgraded
You ease onto the highway, cue the playlist, and—eleven minutes in—your friend begins the ceremonial car doze. No neck-lurching bobblehead this time. The cooling memory-foam pillow props their crown at a dignified angle, the plush seat-belt cushion stops that slow, sideways slump, and the contoured eye mask turns high noon into midnight. Traffic hiccups. A pothole auditions for percussion. They remain blissfully in REM, mouth closed, dignity intact. You sip coffee, bask in the rare silence, and actually hear your blinkers. Forty miles later, you announce a pit stop; they peel off the mask like a monarch emerging from chrysalis, refreshed enough to offer to DJ or navigate (you accept the DJ). The two of you hit a drive-thru, discuss whether waffle cones are architecture, and carry on. Your gift didn’t just save their neck—it saved the vibe.
Pint in the Park, Statue Showings at Noon
It’s Saturday at the park and your friend is conducting an open house for pigeons. “South-facing ledge, excellent crumb exposure, minimal hawk traffic,” they coo, clipboard in hand. In the other hand: an insulated ice-cream pint holder keeping rocky road at polar levels while the sun auditions for June. The flat spade spoon sails through the pint like a zoning variance—no bending, no sad melty edges. A reusable lid stands by in case a gust or rogue wingbeat threatens the property tour. Between bites they rate statue pedestals (A+ for generous cornice, C- for guano-prone angles), then pause to let a feathery client test a gargoyle. Deals are metaphorically closed; sprinkles occur. You’ve essentially financed a mobile dessert office with cooling, grip, and drip control. City planning has never tasted this good.
May their naps be supported, their pints insulated, and every statue close escrow.