Two more steps should clear me of all danger. One... two... Oof. I’d backed into something big, red and furry.

“Elmo!” I exclaimed. Well, I had to assume that’s what it was. A guy in a red T-shirt and pants was wearing an Elmo mask, tipped back on his head so he could enjoy a frothy brew. “Have people been tickling you all night?” I asked.

“I’m not ticklish. I just laugh on command,” he said, pointing to a button on his chest. I pressed it and a recorded giggle sounded.

“That’s brilliant!” I said. Now it was time to get tough, turn this interview around and finally get this big, tough guy to admit his real reason for dressing as Elmo. “Why are you Elmo tonight? Is it because you’re normally a big, tough guy?”

I waited for him to crumple at my probing, to reveal that yes, he knew it was out of character for a macho guy to dress as a cuddly Sesame Street creature, but that deep down, he really just needed a hug.

He laughed. “I’m not normally tough at all.”

“Then why Elmo?”

“It’s what was left,” he said. He turned around and revealed that the costume portion was attached to his back. “It’s child size. I’m actually carrying Elmo.”

“That’s great. It makes me weep, I tell you.”

My big moment, and I’d tanked. No answer; no glimpse behind the fetishistic mask of Halloween fantasy. At least, not the one I was hoping for. Or maybe I had been hearing answers all evening, but I hadn’t been listening.

Of course, it was hard to listen with somebody screeching “Cherry Pie” in your ear.

“Up for another party?” my sister asked.

“We’re at a party.”

“Oh yeah. Right, but my shoes are killing me and the keg just kicked.”

The two thoughts didn’t seem related. Nothing another JELL-O shot couldn’t fix. Only problem was, where could you find one at this mad hour?

Armed only with a mini-tape recorder, my mission was to find one last hard drink before crashing. .... I had a thought. It was hideous.

“You think...?” I asked, as we stumbled down the steps over a slumped Gumby. “Do you think this whole male homosexuality angle is some fetish I have?”

My sister studied me. “Well, you do make a lot of jokes about boy-boy action... I mean, weren’t you the one who said you’d pay 50 bucks to see Johnny Depp getting it on with Denzel Washington?”

“I believe the amount was 100 bucks. But only my first payday of the month, because the second one, I have to take rent out of that.”

“Hmm. Maybe, then. You have a gay male Halloween costume fetish.” She giggled and tripped over a tiara someone had lost on the lawn.

“You know, I just think there are some things we’ll never never understand,” I said. And just to be sure, I flipped off the tape.

 

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