It was a magical night which I'll remember always; the night Alyssa disappeared into the Mall Cinema's ladies' room to freshen up and fix her hair for thirty-five minutes or so.

Timmy and I occupied our time by moving from auditorium door to auditorium door within the multiplex, casually leaning outside each for a while, and watching trailers advertising upcoming features. And looking cool, I might add. Being guys, our hair already looked great, and we didn't care how we smelled.

But when too long became way too long, even by Alyssa's calendar-and after twice seeing a trailer for a little gem called Random Hearts-Tim and I decided we had to take action and storm Alyssa out. We walked over to post ourselves outside the ladies' room door, our improvised plan being to flank the door, cough real loud, and fuss her out. If that didn't work, we agreed that a recon mission would probably be necessary. That was Plan B. Plan C involved smoke.

But as soon as we arrived at the door to enact Plan A, Alyssa emerged. Her hair looked swell, but she quickly summoned Tim away for a spirited private colloquy, myself excluded.

Soon, I heard Tim say, "You'd better tell Uncle."

And Alyssa began to walk, uncertainly, toward me.

Every adult's worst nightmare: Somebody call the cops and tell 'em to seal the building. And call the hospital and tell 'em to get out the dolls. We're on our way.

I sat down. Motioned for Alyssa to sit beside me.

"Uncle…?" she began.

"Yes, honey?"

"You know how you always tell us it's important to wash our hands after we go to the bathroom?"

"…Uh…yes, honey…?"

"Well, that lady over there didn't!"

"…Huh…?"

"She didn't wash her hands!"

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly.

"Alyssa," I began, "some people are just raised in barns, with hogs and sows-"

"Uncle! That lady over there! See her? That one!"

I followed Alyssa's finger and line of sight directly over to the refreshment stand, where the lady Alyssa was referring to was busily scooping up great handfuls of fresh, hot popcorn and selling it to unknowing patrons who were already lined up and paying inflated prices to get it. Occasionally, she'd fill cups with ice and draw soft drinks for them as well. Infecting everything with her germy hands.

"She was real sick in there, Uncle, she-"

And my niece embroidered a picture peculiar to the young in its clarity, astonishing in its vivid nature. And with my overactive imagination, I quickly began to picture the girl as the enemy, a carrier of some rare and deadly strain or typhus or leprosy, dripping death or disease into popcorn containers and soda cups. You've heard of Popcorn Surprise? Check out our Popcorn Hepatitis!

I walked over to the manager and said a few words to him, including a few of Alyssa's graphic details, and he swiftly sent Typhoid Tammy home, to Alyssa's obvious relief. I never saw the girl there again. I sometimes tell myself that I didn't want him to be that severe with her, but I suppose I did.

We had to go to the half-hour later screening of Toy Story 2, and then sit there for a while until the movie started, but it was worth it. We occupied ourselves by snarfing Jujyfruits and guzzling bottled spring water…and counting popcorn eaters. You'd be amazed how many there are.

I tried to persuade the Hero of the Day to stand up in the front of the auditorium and deliver a few remarks to the audience regarding the importance of personal hygiene during food preparation, but Alyssa flatly refused. Every time I'd stand up to introduce her, she'd grab my arm and pull me back into my seat.

The feature of this display was a 6 ½ foot tall, full-dimensional plastic replica of the movie's central character, Sully, covered in blue fur, leaning forward with arms up and outstretched, and a goofy-scary expression on his face

And I remember thinking, Yep! It's gonna be a big surprise, all right!

But that thought had a little brother: I can't let this happen! Not on one of the Christmases!

I rushed back around the corner, into the Corridor of Disorientation, and my assumption was confirmed: A young, and astonishingly pretty, mother was leading her little kid into the store proper to see Sully and the irritating little Billy Crystal eye-guy…except she didn't know that Sully was short by one arm and the eye-guy was turning black and blue instead of the desired green.

I pantomimed to the young woman, Shhh! Three minutes! Give Me Three Minutes!

Surprised and confused by my wild gesticulating, she told the kid to wait for a second, and peeked around the corner, saw what had happened.

I think I can fix it, I pantomimed, Give me three minutes!

She pantomimed prayer, and surprised me by starting to communicate back to me by way of the all but defunct art of interpretive tap-dance: Oh, please try! It was his first movie!

I gesticulated: I'll try! Remember-three minutes! Then, as an afterthought, I pantomimed a quick post script: By the way…Bravo!

I instantly saw that, to reattach the severed arm to Sully's torso, I'd need to line up two foot-long protrusions on the arm socket and insert them into two corresponding holes on the torso. A simple Insert Tab A into Slot B maneuver, which I quickly accomplished.

But to get the upper arm flush with the shoulder-the more complex cosmetic finish, to actually drive the arm and torso the final three or four inches of reattachment-I'd need leverage. Due to Sully's forward-leaning position, I would be unable to accomplish this from the front. And as Sully was too large be moved, there was nothing to push him up against.

So I had to gracefully maneuver myself into the actual display and position myself behind Sully--mold myself against him, so to speak--put my hands onto his upper arms where they meet the shoulders, squeeze, and thrust---

"-uh!…uh!…uh!-"

As the clock was ticking, I didn't realize what, to a casual bystander, this action closely resembled until an elderly woman happened by, afforded me a hard glance, and snorted, "Catholics!"

Go figure.

A moment later, Sully's arm was successfully reattached. I looked at my watch: I'd done the impossible in 00:02:12, leaving me exactly 48 seconds to catch my breath and wipe my brow, so I could persuasively say "Nothing To It!"

With barely 18 seconds to spare, I loudly said, "Done!" and stepped discreetly back, to watch the result.

The young mother led her child-eyes closed, as directed-around the corner leading from the Corridor of Disorientation, and said, "Open your eyes now, honey!"

So feeling exhausted and deflated again, not to mention rejected and unappreciated--embarrassed was part of it, too--I headed for the store's exit, thinking

"Why did I even bother?"

And suddenly, I thought: Damn it! I'm not leaving this store until somebody thanks me!

I walked over to the counter. "May I speak with the manager of this store, please?" I said.

"I'm the manager," the guy replied.

"Yes, sir," he said. "…Uh, what's this…"

"Five bucks," I said, shaking the red and green cans. "Thanks enough indeed!"

…Ho!…Ho!…Ho!