“'A womanly woman,' no myth divine
In fancy to hold her sway;
But real and true in her noble life
She dwells in our homes to-day.”
Schlank, Racey. (1895). “A Womanly Woman.” Poems. Vardon and Pritchard.
__________
In less than the flash of an instant, Jacob found himself elsewhere.
He was now indoors, standing in his kitchen. How had that happened? Where was Emily? And why did Jacob's clothes feel different?
With a sinking sensation of dread rapidly beginning to penetrate deep into his soul, Jacob looked down to confirm what his subconscious had already determined was the case: he was no longer himself.
Jacob's lowered gaze immediately set upon the heavily swollen protrusions of large, mature, obviously feminine breasts straining valiantly against the taut, soft thin cotton fabric of a black tank top combined with a purple tunic layered above it. A long, lavender, cardigan sweater was draped about Jacob's shoulders. Below all that, Jacob was wearing “mom jeans” with pinkish-purple, low-heeled sandals on his otherwise bare, dainty feet.
He immediately recognized the ensemble.
“I'm mom!” he exclaimed in a combination of dread and horror.
Sure enough, his now-adult ears clearly registered the sound of his mother's voice, albeit now tinged with the shaky, immature panic of a teenager. Somehow, fifteen-year Jacob was now forty-year old Jennifer Smith!
For a moment, Jacob was frozen with a mixture of fear and panic. He stared long and hard at the long, thin fingers of his mother, now moving under his command, the lustrous grape color of her smooth nailpolish glistening brightly even under the dull, yellow-white glow of the kitchen's florescent lightbulbs.
“Shit,” he whispered, immediately regretting his choice of profanity. It sounded so horribly, horribly wrong resonating out in the familiar, maternal tones of Jacob's normally puritanical mother.
“Kaitlyn's stupid copper ring of magic changes did this,” he said to himself. “There's no other explanation. So if I'm mom right now, that must mean she's me – outside talking to Emily right now? Oh, no!”
Without thinking, Jacob sprinted towards the door leading from the kitchen to the side porch of the home. Unfortunately, the teenage boy neglected to consider both his new, womanly center of gravity and the presence of half-inch heels on his violaceous designer sandals. As a result, Jacob found himself crashing down in a clumsy heap on the slick, linoleum floor instead.
By the time he had picked himself up off the floor and gingerly made it out the door, Emily had disappeared (presumably being picked up by that stupid jerk of loser she was dating) … but Jacob's old, adolescent body was still standing outside on the lawn. The original Jacob, now inhabiting his mom's body, approached with an ambiguous anodyne greeting.
“Uh, hi!” he said to his old body.
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