"No! I'm not a little girl!" you scream, dashing out the room, looking for a way out. You never find that exit - instead a glass case falls around you, and a small pink chair emerges from the ground. You don't take note of any other details of the chair, and the same display you saw earlier appeared:
CURRENT AGE: 5
DESTINATION: 2
"NO! I'M NOT A BABY GIRL! I WANNA BE A BIG BOY AGAIN!" Your sundress vanishes. You look down at yourself. Your penis is non-existant; replaced by the vagina of a two-year old. Your hands and feet shrink; fingers and toes now stumps compared to what they were. Your legs and arms become short and fat, and your belly protrudes a bit more. Even your face rounds itself out, making you a 25-year old man in the baby-fat body of a toddler.
Then, you do the only thing a little girl can do when she's sad - you bury your face in your pudgy little hands and cry. After about a minute of this, your whining is muted. You take your face out of your hands and see a pink pacifier in your mouth. You try to remove it, but you can't stop sucking it. It relaxes you in a way you hadn't been all day.
A trickling sound comes from below you. "What is it?" you think. Then you look down. Your weak bladder muscles are opening up, and you are peeing into the pink chair, which you now realize is a potty chair. Around your legs are a pair of Pull-Ups training pants. If you were truly a baby girl, this would be a time of rejoicing, but as a 25-year old, you realize that if you hadn't have been sitting on the chair, you would've peed all over yourself. You sob as you stand up, sliding your Pull-Ups on under the pink dress that appeared on your body.
When you fully take into account the changes that have taken place, you find that you were not yet done on the potty. You rush back to sit down, but once your Pull-Ups are down and you are seated, you see that you've already filled your pants. You reluctantly stand and pull them back up, crying, until you are placed in a stroller and rolled back into the room with the girl playing with dolls. Your mess mushes around in your pants while you sit, and you forced into standing when you arrive in the room. A girl just under two-years old greets you.
"Wa' pway wimmee?" A smell similar to your Pull-Ups emitted itself from her diaper, and you simply stared into her eyes for a moment, frozen in time. You then broke the silence.