Rachelle pulled herself to her feet. "There's no way my food's going to stay fresh if I don't get in there and start packaging it up!" she cried. How had she forgotten the basics of modern food preservation!? She rushed through the grass, not noticing as her bikini bottom's smooth fabric started to turn rough and blue.
"And Andy's piano lessons are over at 4! That's only a couple of hours! How am I going to have the house clean by then?!"
The bikini bottom was now descending, made entirely of tight denim, down past her thick thigh. It continued to crawl down her leg like ink, squeezing her calves and ankles. The g-string had bloomed into an explosion of denim large enough to cover her bloated bottom, though it was still tight enough that it didn't conceal any of its jiggle.
"Ohhh," she continued to worry aloud, "The roast is going to have to simmer for several hours before its ready. What time does Abby's school let out again?"
Rachelle was now closing the distance from the front back yard to the front door. Now clad in tight, high-waist, blue jeans, her bikini top also begin to change. The fabric loosened and grew down bast her pudgy midsection, short sleeves sprouting from the straps around her shoulders. The fabric softened in contrast to her new jeans, and the pattern changed into a series of black and white stripes. A black cardigan also appeared over her back as the sleeves shot down her arms and to her wrists.
Her breasts still strained against the fabric of her shirt, but with the addition of the cardigan, she could cover them up easily enough from unwanted stares.
"Men, ugh. They're all the same. These puppies were meant for milking, not fondling." Rachelle was now on her porch, virtually unrecognizable from the girl that had awoke that morning.
Her face began to undergo a series of subtle changes. Her lips plumped up a bit, and darkened to a deep, luscious, red. Her eyes clouded over for a second, clearing up to reveal that they'd change from grey to blue. Her ears were suddenly sporting a pair of small hooped earrings, though she'd never even had her ears pierced.
Rachelle made for the door, but it was lock. Frustrated, she rang the doorbell. "A mother's work is never done," she grumbled, her newly formed heals clacking as she tapped her foot impatiently.
Clumps of hair were now flying freely from her bun as it collapsed about her shoulders, again cascading to her back. Blonde highlights began to stream from her scalp to the tips of her thick mane, as if she'd only added them that morning. Her hair suddenly lifted from her back and began to style itself. By the time it was done twisting, folding, and flowing, it looked like something pulled directly from Stepford Wives.
She placed her hands on her hips as she finally heard someone making their way to the door. Chelley's mother finally undid the lock for the impatient woman.
"Hi, I'm sorry I was so long. My daughter, she's in the bathroom, won't get out, but I'm sure you've got children of your own. You know how it is, right? Anyways, I'm Carly. What can I do for you?"
"Mother, enough fooling around. You know there is work to do, and I have to pick up the kids in a couple of hours."
"Mother? I'm sorry, who did you say you were again?"
"Come on, now, Mom. It's me, Chelley! Please let me in, I'm going to be late picking up Andy and Abby if I don't get a head start on some of this housework."
"Hold on just a second, ma'am. How do you know the names of my children? And why did you call me mom..."
A sudden look of realization and horror swept over Carly's face. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. This wasn't a stranger at her door, this was her daughter. At least, her daughter if she'd aged 15 years and had decided to become a suburban housewife.
"Oh my God...I'm calling 911. Rachel, sit tight, Oh my God..." She rushed back inside, trying to find her phone. Rachel entered slowly, wriggling her wide hips through the narrow door frame.
"Finally," she sighed, "Time to get to work..."