One reason I love
summer is ice cream cones: soft serve,
hard, even frozen yogurt. But it takes a certain amount of dexterity to
eat a cone. Not only must I hold it in my hand and bring it up to my mouth, but
I have to rotate it every once in a while,
or the ice cream will drip off one side. I noticed a few months ago that the
rotating part had become difficult. I cut way back on my consumption this
summer because I lost my confidence. I lost my ice cream cone mojo.

Here in Maine, fall is settling in. On the way back from running errands with Kim last night, we drove by
Dairy Queen, and I felt the urge to get my last cone of the season (man-child that I am). Kim rolled
her eyes at my request, but she pulled in and ordered me
a small chocolate soft serve (kindhearted woman
that she is).

Mmmm. It tasted so good. After I had taken a couple of licks, it was
time to spin the cone to the other side. Nope. Didn’t
happen. Couldn’t happen. My fingers just can’t pull off that maneuver
anymore. Kim wasn’t able to help me because she was already driving and texting and had a cone of
her own.

Just kidding. She didn’t have a cone of her own.

No, seriously. She did have an ice cream cone but she would never text and drive under any circumstances. She can, however, text and eat, text and drink, text in a clockwise direction while rubbing her belly in a counterclockwise direction, and I’m quite sure she can text and sleep.

Anyway…

Because this was a small
cone, I managed to get the ice cream down to the level of the top of the cone
without ever rotating it, but it wasn’t pretty. At that point, I gently bit the cone, supported it in my mouth temporarily, then rotated my hand a
few degrees. I managed to spin the cone 360° in the series of about six bites. I did this at two levels until the
cone was down to the bottom section. Then, I executed the grand finale of ice
cream cone consumption. I stuffed the bottom of the cone into my mouth all at
once. By then, the ice cream had melted
the perfect amount, and it occupied all of the honeycomb-type spaces in the
base of the cone. If someone opened an ice cream stand and served nothing but
the bottom inch of the ice cream cone, I would be their most dedicated
customer.

In the grand scheme of things
that I’ve lost—walking, typing, driving, etc.—eating an ice cream cone is
relatively unimportant. Plus, there are still several other ways I’ll be
able to satisfy my occasional ice cream urges. It’s that last inch of the cone,
however, that I’m going to miss. There’s
only one way to get there, and I can’t do it anymore.