Second, I took a shortcut through Central Park (not the Black Forest!) to see how my Grams was doing in her small, but rent-controlled, apartment in an older section of the city. And no “basket of goodies” (whatever that is) either, just a couple of Bauman’s bagels that I picked up on the way over.
Third, the B&E criminal’s last name was Wolfe; he wasn’t an actual wolf (like there would be a timber wolf roaming the streets of Manhattan).
Fourth, yeah, Wolfe apparently does like to dress up in women’s clothing and Grams was close to his size, so this checks out, but this is more fetish than disguise.
Fifth, the so-called woodsman who saved Grams (and me, I guess, although I had already pulled out my pepper spray) lives next door and models for the L. L. Bean catalog, hence his outdoorsy, flannel look.
So, to sum up: no one was consumed, there was no axe (the L. L. Bean model just used Gram’s fireplace poker), there’s was no series of inane I. D. questions (hey, a guy in your Gram’s clothes in her apartment is a pretty obvious problem), there was no dead wolf (although the perp did have a big bump on his head from the poker blow when the police took him away).
Sometimes people’s imagination gets carried away and stories grow out of all proportion; just check out the current issue of the National Enquirer.