I’m a huge fan of these two delights and they are fans of ice cream cones at a neighborhood block party. After all it’s not summer until the bottom of your cone collapses and the best part lands on your mosquito bitten calf. Every drip onto your skin feels like a triumph for its still fair game for scraping off with a sticky finger and licking the gooey goodness because who knows when we’ll be able to stick our sleeveless arms back into an insulated cart with vibrant umbrellas overhead. Nor when we will be able to walk the block lined with ballooning bounce houses with our lace-less shoes to kick-off. Cones over the course of summer are prevalent and nearing the end of summer we tend to indulge.