Mary collected the vials and examined each one even closer. She was tempted to start testing...the human Female vial ought to return her to normal if she needed it to...but she remembered. She wanted to go to work. She wanted to test these things on THEM, the people at work. She could hear them already, their voices from behind the walls of her cubicle, whispering things she just KNEW were about her and her little...activities with the boss-man.
Mary put on a long pair of slacks and stuffed her beautiful tail down one leg. Then she put the box of vials in her purse, brushed, curled and teased her hair into something presentable, put on her makeup and perfume, her jewelry, and felt ready to face the world.
There was a knock at the door. She froze, wondering if it was the person who had given her the box of vials. She could already SEE him--and only a him could come up with something like this--standing on her doorstep, wearing a trench-coat and a wide brimmed hat.
Hello, Mary, he would say, and though Mary would try she wouldn't see his face. I left something of mine here. I want it back. Give it to me.
If he did...if she had to...
She walked down the stairs, the precious box in her purse, sparks flying from her eyes...and against all her paranoid reasoning, she opened the door.
And it was the paper boy. Standing there, sandy haired, blue eyed and half-innocent, game-boy in his back pocket, a small book in his shirt pocket. His address book and his account book. This little boy kept careful records. And if he wasn't paid on time this week, next week you would be hand-delivered each paper with a request for his money. And if that week he got no money, you got no paper.
Mary was almost always hand-delivered her paper. And twice she had gone a full week without it, once three.
She hated paying for the paper. She hated being reminded she was a deadbeat, and most of all, Mary hated that little boy.
Well. Why not start here, Mary?
"You owe me twenty-five dollars, Mrs. Banker." Peter the Paper Boy said. "And this is your last paper until I get paid."
Mary smiled. "Come in, Petey." She said. She opened the door wider, smiled widely. "Let me see if I can get you the money. Oh, and would you like a brownie?" She asked.
Peter's eyes got a little brighter. His sprinkling of pimples...and the reddened remains of popped ones...testified to a long standing sugar habit. "Sure, Miss Banker. But remember...twenty-five."
"Twenty five." Mary said, and went into the kitchen. She fished a cold fudge brownie out of her fridge and opened the box of vials.
Which one should she use?