“Too bad. Me worst problem is making love to women. They call to me in their dreams. They say ’Cookie, oh Cookie, come satisfy me with your hunger.’ And of course me come. Sometimes me come three times a day!” He bounced a little in his seat, saw the sour look on my face, and resumed slumping.

“Sometimes the women are married. They always leave their husbands and live with me. There are maybe thousands of women at my house.”

I was astonished. “Your house?” I asked.

Cookie Monster nodded. “Yes. Me house in the sky. You can only see it from television. And me boss won’t bring cameras there.” He once again began to bawl, louder this time. Intermittent apologies crept out from behind the tears. He really did seem sorry.

I thought of Jenna. Was she now staying at Cookie Monster’s harem? Would she be happy there? Would I be happy without her? I hadn’t yet considered the fact of her absence, and I expected to suddenly feel sick or devastated, but it must not have hit me yet. I was numb.

Cookie Monster had collected himself and was silent, looking at me and breathing heavily. He stood up and walked over to the kitchen cupboards, reaching up and grabbing a fifth of whiskey. “Why this here?” He asked, examining the bottle.

“It’s for guests,” I said. “I don’t drink.”

“Me know,” he replied, pulling down two shot glasses. “but now is the best time for strong drinks. What have you got to lose?”

Slowly, Cookie Monster poured out two shots, then crushed the rest of the bottle between his monsterous jaws. Whiskey splattered the floor and cabinets around him. I felt like this moment- his back to me, preparing my long forgotten poison- was going to determine the rest of my life. And he was right: There was nothing at all to lose.