In addition to the vast assortment of women's clothes, you also see a number of wigs that display various women's hairstyles. This clearly isn't the room you're looking for. Still the fact that no one who lives here seems to be home, you decide to have a little bit of goofball fun. Putting on the clothes would be a bit too weird for you but putting on the wigs seems like a quick way to be a bit of a goober.
Perusing the collection of wigs you're eyes settle on the most ostentatious one. The hair is light brown with long bangs and rolling sausage curls that seem quite long. Go big or go home you think to yourself and gently pick up the wig and fix it loosely on your head. The curls hang over your shoulders down to your chest in front and fall all the way to the small of your back. You turn to a full length mirror affixed to the wall.
"Oh, dear me no. I simply couldn't dance with you, sir, rules of etiquette demand that we be properly introduced by someone else who we both have known for at least two days and that you fill out Etiquette Forms 127.52 A through V2.6. You must also own at least one argyle sock." you say while mocking a posh English accent. You pretend to fan yourself while batting your eyelashes, or at least you try to. Your attempts simply make it look like you have something in both eyes. You laugh slightly and shake your head. If it's one thing watching documentaries has taught you is that Victorian era held some pretty strange rules of etiquette compared to today.
Fun's fun, but you figure you'd better make your way back home. You pick the wig up by it's edges and pull the wig away from your head. For some reason, though the wig slips from your fingers and settles back on your head. No, not settles. It actively seems to fasten to your head. As if it were a living thing refusing to be removed. You respond by whispering a confused expletive and try again to remove the wig, but you can't seem to find it's edges. You feel a tingling all along your scalp as you desperately try to tug the wig off. On about your third panicked tug you feel physical pain upon doing so. Your eyes widen and your heart thumps in your chest as your fingers run through what is no longer a wig, but actual hair growing out of your head.
You turn back to the mirror and look yourself in the mirror as your five o'clock shadow fades from your face and you features change from your own fairly masculine frame to a decidedly feminine one. Your neck is much narrower and your shocked gasp sounds as if it's coming from a different person. A female specifically. You look at the hands and find that they're now slender and delicate with pale skin. The hair you had on your forearms is slowly fading as the pale skin travels up your arms, past the elbows and right up to your shoulders.
You're frightened about where this is going. You remove the red flannel shirt you were wearing and try to pull the undershirt you were wearing underneath off as well, needing to see if your chest has changed as well. Your new hair, though is to thick to make removing the shirt easy, so you simply tear the t-shirt off entirely. What meets your eyes, to your slight relief is your regular, slightly hairy chest. That is until the sausage curls hanging over your shoulders touch your torso and rest against your back. At which point you feel your body changing. Your bones shift and reshape as does your chest. A shapely pair of breasts grow from your chest.
Your jeans, socks, shoes and underwear are still on, and you can tell those parts of your body haven't changed yet. Is it the hair that's changing your body? Your torso certainly hadn't changed until it was touched by the hair, and the hands that you ran through the bountiful curls were indeed the first to change. Alternatively, it could be that you removed your shirts that forced the change.
You look at your entirely female top half, and entirely male bottom half and wonder what you should do.