Grope is too strong a word.
I'm not sure how we should classify what the giant dog-man in the life jacket did to me. Maybe it defies classification. Here's the scene:
It's Disney World. Immediately that should set your mind at ease about the presence of a giant dog-man. That's a thing that happens in Disney World. They have giant chipmunks there. Shirtless mouse-men. Pant-less duck-men. The rules are different. You don't think about it too much. You can't.
It's breakfast time and we're at one of the Disney World resorts. It's not the one we're sleeping at, though. We've actually traveled from one themed hotel to another themed hotel in order to eat breakfast. In the real world I suppose the equivalent would be waking up at a Days Inn and saying, "Fuck it, let's go eat over at the Super 8." This is not the real world, however. It's Disney World.
It's a buffet. The food is pretty good, by theme park standards. Theme park food is not generally very good. It's not supposed to be very good, I don't believe. It's only supposed to seem very good to a person with heat stroke. That's the standard you agree to when you pay money to live in a theme park for five days.
There are characters present. When I say that characters are present what I am really saying is that there are college students and senior citizens present and they are dressed up to resemble famous cartoon characters. The actual characters themselves cannot attend these breakfasts because they are not real. Everyone recognizes that these are not the actual famous dog-men and duck-women we are familiar with, but we play along because it is fun and because some of us are accompanied by children, who are - by and large - rubes.
I have my back to the buffet. I am eating a large plate of mouse-shaped vittles. An enormous gloved hand settles into the space between my shoulder blades. I tense and turn to my left. A gangly Sasquatch in board shorts is rubbing my back.
Goofy.
Except not Goofy, not really. This is a man or a woman in costume, pretending to be Goofy, but certainly not pretending to let their thick, white catcher's mitt of a paw caress my upper back and shoulders. That is quite real.
The caress transmutes into a trio of hearty pats just around the outer edge of my shoulder blades before recombining into a firm squeeze where upper arm meets collar bone.
I consider the possibility that Goofy has made a pass at me.
But again, this is not Goofy. It is a person. It is a very tall person. I assume it is a man. It is a moderately tall man or an unusually tall woman. They are either somewhat tall or very tall and they have greeted me in an uncommonly sensual way, at least by the standards of officially licensed theme park mascots. No one else receives such an enthusiastic greeting. I feel alarmed. Violated. Ill at ease.
When prompted, I happily pose for pictures.
Goofy takes his leave.
When she arrives, Daisy Duck offers only a formal handshake. I accept her thin, gloved hand and bravely hide my disappointment.