You groan. Is it really too much to ask that you keep the same shape for more than an hour? All you wanted to do was get out of your stupid uniform, now you're going braless in a low-cut dress, with a very curvy figure and much larger breasts than you'd like (not that you're particularily keen on the idea of having breasts in the first place.) Sighing, you plunk down in one of the two chairs, flopping your head on the table. Maybe things could be worse, but they're still pretty bad at the moment. What you need now is a drink.
Looking up, your eyes come to rest on the bottle in front of you. It smells like alcohol; sure, there's no telling how long it's been here, and it might transform you like everything else, but it's alcohol. You pop the cork and take a swig. It's rum, pretty good stuff too. You take another swig, then sit back in your chair, waiting for the seemingly inevitable change.
It doesn't come. You wait a few minutes. Still no change; it looks like this is just good old-fashioned booze. You're about to down the bottle, but you remember Jeremy; you ought to wait and share it with her. Still, "a little wine makes the heart glad," and you kick back in your chair, in a noticeably better mood even if you are still a knockout anthro cat-girl.