"We met on the street. She turned some guy into a lovedoll when he stole a purse, and then she recognized me and showed me where I was working." You keep "talking," even though you know you shouldn't. There are still thoughts that are hidden from your owner - at least, you think they're private - but something about this method of communication breaks down your normal filters. "I didn't know because until about twelve hours ago, I was in another universe. I had a weird dream, and then I woke up to find a box with a dress in it. I put it on - I was a man - then I turned into a woman. That sort of thing didn't happen in that universe! No magic at all! Or - I don't even know, maybe you don't call it magic, or maybe you call things 'magic' that we did have, I don't know. But anyway, I walked out the door and I was here, watching Christy turn a guy into a lovedoll. Then she sent me to my job and I was already late, so they were going to turn me into a balloon, permanently, which is apparently allowed by my contract? Then Christy hinted that she'd have someone turn me into a dress 'involuntarily' for a while to get me out of the contract."
Your new owner's response to this is a heavy sigh. "Of course she sends me her new pet lunatic. Well, if I had been planning to let you go, I sure won't now. You're probably better off this way than pleading your six-dimensional gibberish to your next boss."
"Um, is she giving you a choice in the matter?"
"Y'know, I don't think she is, one way or the other, but if she is planning on changing you back, I think she'll change her mind when she hears your little story."
"And she'll believe you?"
"I dunno, I figured you were probably going to just straight-up tell her as soon as she tapped into you."
"Well, to be honest," you say, "I probably would've until your reaction just now."
"Me and my big mouth," she says, rolling her eyes in the mirror. "Then again, that's pretty much my job description at this point, isn't it?"
"You're a stoolie," you say.
"No shit."
"On whom?"