Melting ice cream cones

The other night, my best friend from high school and I met up for dinner and then went in search for ice cream. We found ourselves at the neighborhood Ben & Jerry's. Chocolatey yummies in hand, we foolishly headed outdoors into the sweltering heat. Now those of you who have eaten ice cream with me know about my issues with walking, talking and ice cream cone eating. But I didn't even get that far. Within minutes, my generous heaping of chocolate ice cream on a crunchy sugar cone proceeded to dribble drip dribble dribble dribble drip all down the sides. At first, I tried to fight it. I tried to stop dribbles mid-drip and enveloped a napkin around the cone in an effort to catch some of the chocolate streams. And then, I just started to laugh. I looked at my chocolate mess now with rivers pouring down my hand, and laughed. It's like that moment when you're walking through the rain, hopping, jumping, skipping over puddles, trying to re-invert your umbrella and then know that there's no better feeling thing to do than to just stand there and soak it all in. And then an even better idea strikes -- to run and jump and dance through the rain, laughing and screaming and shouting for joy. I didn't dance with my ice cream but somehow, it still felt free.