Rachel began noticing several odd things during her trip to the market. Her clothes kept feeling strange, and she repeatedly had to adjust them to stay comfortable. Her ears and neck started to itch from her hair. She had to assume it was because of having just washed it. Furthermore, as she filled up her shopping cart with items from her mom's list, she found it got harder to push. Not from the weight of the items in the cart, but rather it was her own body that seemed strangely weak.
She also got a few strange looks from customers in the store. They were nice looks, like the admiring way her mom looked at her during breakfast. But Rachel was unused to such attention in public, and when she thought of all the other things she'd been feeling in that hour, it worried her. She was constantly adjusting her skirt in nervousness as well as physical discomfort. It refused to fit right on her. And when she thought more about it, she wondered why she was wearing a skirt when she vaguely remembered putting her pants back on after showering.
The check-out line brought more surprises--and revelations--when the cashier remarked how nice Rachel's hair looked.
"Thank you," was Rachel's standard reply.
The grocer, proceeding to scan Rachel's items, said "It must have taken you ages to get it that way. I could never have such patience with a curling iron."
"Curling iron?" Rachel repeated, looking at the others in line behind her to see if the clerk had been talking to someone else. But there was no one else there. "I don't use curling irons."
The woman tilted her head and her eyes went wide. "No kidding? How did you do it, then?"
"Do wh--WHAA?" Rachel gasped in shock. She had run her fingers through her hair and felt them catch on a tangle of curls. She pulled some of the locks over her shoulder and couldn't believe what she saw. Her hand clutched a trio of golden blonde ringlets, thick and shining. Her hair had somehow grown halfway down her back, changed color, and curled themselves into a mane fit for a princess. No wonder people were staring...Rachel could barely take her eyes off them herself!
"I--I didn't..." she stammered. "Th-this isn't my real hair!" With each stammer her voice jolted up in pitch.
The clerk's pleasant face changed to nervousness. "Oh, I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to make a big thing out of it. One of my friends wears a wig, too, after fighting off cancer. If it bothers you I won't say another word about it."
Completely dumbfounded, Rachel simply paid for the groceries and scurried away with her shopping bags as quickly as she could. She found them rather difficult to heft, when she knew full well they shouldn't feel that heavy. Behind her, she could feel the shimmering ringlets bouncing in the air and thumping against her back.
She dropped the groceries in the car and peered into the driver's side mirror to see her reflection. She tugged at her hair, expecting...hoping...for it to be a wig. It wasn't. The curls were real, all right, and her hair had definitely changed color.
Then she noticed what she was wearing. Gone were her shirt and pants. They had been replaced...or turned into...a blue sundress with white and yellow flowers patterning the soft fabric. Her socks were now knee-high stockings, though her shoes were the same sneakers she had put on originally.
"Too weird," she said in a voice somewhat higher than the one she was supposed to have. "What is going on?!"