As you hop into the car, you tell the driver to head to an intersection near the magic shop. You can't quite remember the address, but this should be good enough. Sitting in the taxi, you take a look over your body. Your hirsute form is completely alien to you. Your flopping man-breasts continually threaten to exit your wifebeater, vibrating and bouncing greatly. You are sorely aware of them at every turn, bump, and abrupt stop. The sun is hot today, very hot, and you're stuck wearing a fur coat. Your breathing is ragged in the hot air, and your mouth feels hot with the new beard around it. You raise your hand to your face, and feel the damp facial growth. It surrounds your mouth completely, the mustache and chin parts hanging a little long. You start to sweat profusely, every hair plastered to your wet skin, and the taxi driver curses and opens the window. You hope he just wants to cool down the car, but you have a feeling you're giving off some major stink. You try to distract yourself, looking down at your arms, but their freakish bulk and glistening, damp, fur only serve to remind you of your predicament.
You sigh, and reach your destination after what feels like a very long time. You've barely handed the irate driver your money before he urges you out of the car and speeds away.
You find the magic shop again with some ease, trying to ignore the wide berth that most pedestrians give you. You do notice one older bearish gentleman giving you a hard, hot, look, but you don't have time to indulge that fantasy. You enter the shop, the bell above the door tinkling in welcome. The clerk from the other day looks up, only mild amusement on his face. He must see this kind of thing a lot. "Welcome back. Almost didn't recognize you there, sir." The clerk is probably Mediterranean, because his skin has a rich olive tint. He has black hair, and chocolate brown eyes that twinkle with amusement. He's clean shaven, with a hint of a five o' clock shadow rising high on his face. His nose, a little hooked, is his most noticeable feature, but you suppose it's not too bad. It adds a little uniqueness to his otherwise plain, squarish face. He's tall, maybe 6'2", and is considerably older than you. Maybe in his early 30s, or perhaps nearing 40 if time had been kind. He had an air of confidence about him, and looked collected and cool. You're not sure how, considering his thick wool sweater, rolled up to the elbows, and tight pants, but he showed no signs of being uncomfortable. He was making you even sweatier just looking at him.
You're a little annoyed that he seems so amused by your plight, but you need his help. "I need you to fix this. I just want to be back to normal." You're pleading, the desperation clear in your voice. The clerk nods happily. "Of course, that's no problem. This kind of thing happens a lot, you know. For a small fee, we can get things sorted out." You gulp. You don't want to ask, but you force yourself. "How much does it cost?" The clerk smiles politely. "You've used the ring a few times, but you're asking for a first time fix. I'll give you a good price. How does 5000$ sound?" Your jaw drops. "Do you really think I can afford that?"
The shopkeeper's grin widens deviously, as if he expected this turn of events. "Well, I'm sorry if this comes off a little vulgar, but I don't think things are so bad. You look just fine to me, in fact. My tastes have gotten more... 'unique' in my time here. And I must say, you are certainly a unique specimen. I wouldn't mind giving you a considerable discount if you could, ahem, assist me with some matters in the back room?" The clerk looks at you expectantly. What will you do?