Mark hated himself. Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw the same skinny, underdeveloped 19 year old day in, day out. His hair was a medium-length mousey brown, his eyes brown also. He had a few, thin whiskers poking out of his top lip, but, try as he might, could never grow any real facial hair whatsoever.
He wasn't bad looking, he got the occasional pimple. He was what you would call average. Boring. And he loathed it. Having recently finished school, he was the unfortunate late bloomer. Most of his friends had been shaving regularly since they were 15, but Mark could only watch with envy.
So, at 19, jobless and living alone in a dingy, low-rate motel room, he realised he needed to change. And it was in this moment of realisation that some far off, unknown force decided to grant his wishes...
He was sitting eating pizza on a grungy sofa, watching Oprah in his underwear when there was a knock on his door. He wrapped himself in a faded dressing gown and opened it to find...