You browse a rack with ordinary-looking outfits. You notice one in particular that's set apart from the rest. It's a young girl's ensemble consisting of a pink tee-shirt and bib overalls. In the back, hanging on the same hanger, is a pink and white backpack with several young cartoon animals printed on it. The display card above the outfit reads "NEW! Complete Young Anthro Experience. Accessories included. Satisfaction guaranteed."
You consider the outfit for a minute. "Anthro" meant a half-human, half-animal, right? But which one? There were several different kinds of animals on the backpack.
In the end, you decide to give it a shot. You remember that removing a costume from its hanger is the trigger for the change, so you carefully lift the entire thing off the rack and carry it back to the changing rooms.
Inside, you hang it on a hook and pull off the backpack. You wait for a second, but feel no change. You suppose the backpack doesn't technically count, as it could fit any size and age of child.
It feels heavy. You unzip it to find a plastic pouch with instructions that warn you not to remove them unless you're sure you want to purchase it. You remember the voucher book you had received, and flip through it just to see if there's anything that can help you pay for these costumes.
It must be your lucky day, because you find a coupon that gets you a whopping 75% off this exact costume, bringing the cost to around fifteen dollars. "Special debut offer! This week only!" You hope this thing is as good as all of the promotion makes it out to be.
You set the backpack and pouch down on the bench and pull the overalls and shirt off the hangar. A static shock hits you, and you start to feel funny. You're changing once again. The room slowly grows around you. Your uniform gets more baggy, and soon the skirt slides off your hips and falls around your feet. Your hands disappear into the long sleeves of the blouse, and the collar slips over one of your shoulders.
You giggle at the sight of yourself. You must be six or seven years old now, and you look very silly in such big clothes. You remember a half hour ago when even these clothes were too small on you, and giggle even more. You love hearing that giggle. It's high-pitched and full of sweet innocence.
You take off the clothes and open the pouch to get your underwear. There's no bra, obviously, but there is a pair of puffy white panties. You carefully step into them. Next you put on the shirt, followed by the overalls. You button the straps and admire yourself in the mirror. They fit you very comfortably. You can feel your panties shuffle with the turn of your hips. It feels somehow natural.
There are other items in the bag as well, including a watch with a cartoon character using his arms as the hands of the clock face. You attach it to your left wrist with its simple velcro strap. You wonder why there are no socks or shoes included in this so-called "complete" package.
You look at the paper. On the opposite side from the warning is a list. You try to read it, but are surprised at the difficulty of the larger words.
"In-struck-shuns," you say to yourself in a sweet little voice. You giggle again. "I sound so funny," you laugh.
You continue to go through the list. "Read all in-struck-shuns car-felly before pro...proseeding?" What's wrong with you? This should be a piece of cake. You're sure you knew what "proseeding" meant a few minutes ago. You'd learned it when you were older. Maybe the "instruckshuns" could explain.
"Put on the garm...gar-mens first." You don't remember what "garmens" means either, but you guess it means "clothes." There are pictures of the panties, shirt, and overalls next to the sentence. "After dressing, put on the watch. You should begin to feel the effects of the costume. To make a complete...tren-sishun...your mind will become partly child-like, al-thow you will keep your mem-rees and other per-son-alitee treats." You barely understand any of that, but you read enough to know why you don't. So this is the "complete" experience: your mind changes to fit the costume.
"Next, put on the collar." You look at the blue collar still in the pouch. It's a pink cloth collar you would normally see on a pet. It has silver buckles and rings to hook a leash. From one of the rings dangles a blank golden heart-shaped tag.
"For the final change, con-sen-trait on an animal as you buckle the collar. If you do not choose, the costume will make a random sell-eck-shun." Below this line is a list of animals. "Animal Types Comp-at-able with This Costume."
You pick up the collar in your tiny hands. The tag jingles a little bit. What does compatible mean? If you were a little older maybe you'd understand. You shrug and begin to buckle the collar around your neck, eyes glancing over at the list of animal names.