It. Is. Mine.

Frequent readers may remember this post about me dancing as the cone man. If you missed that entry, check it out before proceeding; I'll wait.

Back? Good.

When we hit the beach this year, we were dismayed to learn that the ice cream shop that had housed the giant cone had closed. Fortunately, a while later we learned that a different shop had purchased the cone and had it standing in the corner, face to the wall, unwilling to display it proudly.

We have history with this cone. I've danced in it a couple of times. I've hugged my kids, who were much younger then, while wearing it. We've seen it sitting in the corner of beach ice cream shops for quite a few years. Yet here it stood, relegated to a place of shame.

So, I did the only logical thing.

I bought it.

After a short negotiating session, during which the current owner's major concern was what I was planning to do with it (did she worry I would somehow use my cone for nefarious purposes? exactly what might those be? the mind boggles), and with the quick exchange of a hundred, the cone was mine. It wouldn't fit in my car, so after dinner we stopped by the ice cream shop and put the very large cone in the back of the van.

Here I am, standing pool-side with it.


For those who want a closer look at its creepy face, I offer this alternate pic.


I'd post pictures of others with it, but I'd have to get their permissions, so for now, this is all the cone-pix you get.

Don't you wish you had a giant cone, too?

You can deny it, but you know you do.