I have never been one to take eating an ice cream cone lightly. Once you’re in, you’re in. You have to commit entirely. It’s like a 10-15 minute relationship, depending on the size of the cone and the voraciousness of your appetite, multiplied by the temperature outside and who you’re with. These are all factors in your total ice cream eating experience.
If it’s sweltering hot out, you have to step your game up a notch and catch all the drips, turning the cone frantically, never pausing for fear of a major leak that could take down the entire structure. I hear drill sergeant voices in my head…”Turn”! “Pivot”! “Eat”! “LICK Goddamn it”!!! It’s almost too much pressure. Almost. And if you’re with people that like to have long lengthy conversations while eating a cone, well then, that’s a whole other thing altogether. I hold up the “one minute” finger as I massacre my cone. Yeah the finger stays up until I’m done. I don’t care who’s waiting for me to answer them. They shouldn’t have invited me for ice cream if they’re offended.
I also have this … shall we call it a “milk” thing. I will not share milk or ice cream or creamy desserts with ANYone, unless I carefully divide them ahead of time. I don’t drink my cereal milk. Ever. I don’t dunk cookies. I tried, and yes it tasted good, but the dry heaves took all the pleasure out of that. You can understand, right? (Just imagine how I felt when this happened…)
Now take ALL that “fun”, and try and teach it to a 6-year-old, or younger, whatever the case may be. I almost need to go home and sedate myself after we’re finished with a trip to Dairy Queen.
me: Do you want it in a cup?
Jack: No, definitely a cone.
me: (mild panic) But then it drips all down your wrists, and you get all sticky, so…
me: Sigh. Okay.
Jack: Oh I love the twisty ice cream!
me: Let’s go outside to eat it.
Jack: It’s so HOT out.
me: Actually, maybe we should eat inside? (I look longingly back into the frigid interior) It will melt too quickly out here.
Jack: No!! I’ll eat it REAL fast.
me: I hope so. Oh, hey it’s dripping back there. You have to turn Jack.
Jack: I AM turning. Sheesh.
me: No, here…turn it again. LICK! It’s getting all down your hand. (gag)
Jack: (trying frantically to keep up with my instructions) Hey, guess what, after we finish the ice cream we should —
me: (full panic) NO talking, just catch the drips! Don’t mash down the top with your mouth. Why are you biting the bottom off your cone!!??
Jack: So I can suck out the ice cream.
me: That’s what you do with a pointy cone, these just cave in. Sigh…
Jack: Oh, uh oh! It just caved in. (he starts shoveling pieces in his mouth and licking his hands)
me: (feeling faint) Okay okay, here just eat that and take these napkins.
Jack: (mouth entirely full) Ah thuhnk I gaht dum in ma eye!
me: Why is it in your eye! OH for Pete’s sake. Let’s go back in and wash you up.
Back inside it’s 50 degrees cooler, the kids all have cones that are still frozen and they’re eating them nicely while their parents talk to each other. Like humans. I’m covered in the remnants of chocolate/vanilla sludge with bits of cone stuck to my wrists and there’s a huge drip down my HELLOOOO expensive purse!
I’m more of a cookie person.