Love Bites

Growing up, I lived less than a mile from a well-known ice cream business. My dad and I would go there every so often, order a couple of cones, and sit in the back of his truck. My dad’s order never changed: large vanilla cone dipped in chocolate.

When I was still little, somewhere between 6 to 10 years old, I got into the habit of biting the tip off of his cone. He would pretend to be angry and I would get a kick out of it. I did this every single time, even when he “sternly” told me not to, well into my teens and even my twenties.

One day, I pick us up some ice cream and his usual order by myself. When I get home, I hand him his cone. He looks at it, then at me, and hands it back. I hadn’t bitten the tip off and he wouldn’t take it until I did!

He no longer gets his cones dipped in chocolate, but I still try my best.