What are you talking about... Tim wanted to say, but rather "about twenty minutes, hon. And I've only prepped the food, I haven't even started to cook" came out of his mouth. His voice was even forced to be higher pitch, as if he was doing an impression of Paul's mom.
"Well, it already smells great. I'm going to futz around the garage, come get me when it's ready," said Kathy's husband, presuming that he was actually speaking with his wife.
As Frank walked out to the garage, Tim started mentally panicking. What the fuck is going on? Why am I dressed like Mrs. Hodgson? Paul really fucked up this time... Tim knew Paul was up in the attic, but just before he was going to head up there to figure this whole thing out, he noticed that the onion wasn't quite ready for the omelettes he was prepping.
It'll just take a sec, Tim thought. He went back to the counterspace next to the stove and grabbed the knife next to the cutting board, noticing how his fingernails were looking a little sub-par. It could be because he hadn't had the salon do his nails in almost two weeks. Tim began cutting and chopping the vegetables so he could whip up a decent brunch for the family when he quickly snapped out of it.
This is too weird, this brunch can wait a few minutes, I have to get upstairs, he thought. Even though he was still physically Tim, he walked just like a grown woman, with his knees occasionally knocking together from his feminine gait. As he approached the stairs of the attic, Tim thought he heard a few voices speaking...