"Then let's get to work. This very evening, I wish for my girlfriend's new boyfriend Thomas to transform into a plant," said Damon, knowing how much such a transformation would distress the boy he hated.
"As you wish, master," said the genie. "But... What sort of plant? Do you have any requirements or specifications? Or do you leave these choices up to me?"
Damon looked up at her. She was right.
"Er... Let me ponder on the matter..." he said with some hesitation.
The genie was indeed right. Damon should give out more details. It was probably better. It took him a few minutes but he reached a decision. He looked in a determined fashion up at her.
"Then I wish he became a beautiful rose, bright pink, and in a pot, to appear in my room. In a fancy pot. He will be unable to move but will understand, see and hear everything I say."
The genie snapped her fingers.
"Thus it will be done," she simply said.
And indeed in the evening, a fine pot appeared, in the style of 18th century French royalty furniture. Inside there was a dark rich earth and out of it was a magnificent dark pink bloom, worthy of the same gardens strolled by Marie-Antoinette in the same 18th century France. Tomas, immobile, had to witness Damon taunting him, while a silent actual genie remained in a corner. Damon gloated about Thomas' color and plant species - oh so feminine - and how he'd take care ogf him with the best - hence smelliest - fertilizer. After all, Thomas' very existence was reliant on Damon now. And to add insult to injury, he called Damon "Belle", claiming it'd be his name as of now. Thomas could only listen and realize he would suffer for while, and all for dating Monica.