The Gingerbread Man: an iStory

“You should go as the Gingerbread Man,” she said. “I'll be the fox!”

“It's kind of played out, isn't it? Women as foxes?” I replied.

She glanced at my leg. “Well, I could go as the old lady or the farmer. But you have to be the Gingerbread Man.”

“You could be Little Red Riding Hood and I could be the Big Bad Wolf,” I offered.

“Meh. It just wouldn't be the same. Don't you think this would be fun? You never want to have any fun with this. Shouldn't we take advantage?” She looked down at me again.

I didn't bother to offer Hansel and Gretel.

On Halloween I wore a brown shirt and pinned up the right leg of my brown pants. I left my prosthetic leg at home. I left my crutches home, too, so I leaned on her all night. When we got home, I was just under a quarter gone.