The idea of an adhesive making an outfit indestructible and permanently bonded to your body is just too far fetched, and you decide its time to brave the hallways and head to reception to call a friend. You teeter on your heels and swish your way down the hall, into the elevator, and out into the main lobby. Time seems to freeze as everyone gets a good look at you, and laughter slowly erupts amongst the crowd. You mince your way to the front desk and ask the giggling receptionist if you can use the phone. She bursts out laughing, places the phone on the desk, and runs to the back room to hide her hysterics.
After an hour of sitting in the lobby, hiding your face with the thick wig spilling out from under your fluffy hat, your friend arrives. He follows suit with everyone else who has seen you, and begins snickering and laughing as well. You glare at him, and fill him in with the details of the note and what had been done to you as you both walk precariously to the car. The heels have begun to become a painful hindrance to your movement, and you stumble and fall onto your friend more than once. He laughs, rubs the fluffy fur ball that’s encasing the top of your head, and comments on the amazing job the pranksters have done on you, and how its the best prank he’s ever seen. You get into his car, the huge puffball of a hat making it difficult to sit upright in the seat, as its massive volume is compacting as much as it can against the top of your head and the roof of the car. Again you hide your face with the thick walls of hair as he drives you home.
Once your friend has helped you break into your house due to your lack of a backup key, he wishes you luck and drives off. You breathe a sigh of relief, finally free of the public humiliation you’ve received at the hotel, as well as during the drive home, where people were shouting all manners of names at the pink fluffy drag queen they saw in the car beside them. Your feet are in an incredible amount of pain from being crammed in the heeled boots for so long, and the entire costume has become uncomfortably hot from the small amount of walking you’ve had to do. The entire experience has left you drained, so you stumble over to the sofa and collapse on the cushions, your fluffy hat and collar making an excellent pillow as you doze off to sleep.
Several hours later, sunlight begins streaming in through your windows and you awake with a start. Blinking your eyes, you remember fragments from the horrible dream you were having last night, something about being trapped in some sort of ridiculous...
Considering how bright, big, and glittery your costume is, it only takes a few seconds for the reality of the situation to come crashing back to you. You struggle off the couch and swish your way into the kitchen to find a way out of your pink fluffy prison. Opening a drawer and grabbing the sharpest knife you can find, you start sawing madly at the hot furry ball atop your head. The knife zips across the fur, stabs into it harmlessly, and zips right off again. You freeze, and try again, stabbing hard into the soft mound of fur. Again, the knife squishes into the hat, but refuses to puncture the lining or even make a scratch in it. You turn your attention to the collar around your neck, but the same thing happens, the knife won’t slice any of it off, not even a single hair of the fur comes loose. Your heart beats faster as you stab at the dress with the knife, and watch it harmlessly glance off.
Stepping as quickly as you can into your garage, you grab the closest tool you can find - which is a circular saw. You turn it on and blindly drive it down into the skirts surrounding your legs. A scream comes from your lips as sparks fly off from the dress, you shut off the saw and see not a single scratch on the fabric. You turn the saw back on and press it against your breasts, and they jiggle and shake as the saw grinds against them, and suddenly the blade overheats and breaks, sending fragments of metal flying into your face and costume. The shards bounce harmlessly off of your costume, and frighteningly enough, off of your pretty made over face.
Your breathing becomes very shallow, to the point of hyperventilation, and you race back to the kitchen, ripping and pulling at the heavy fur monster atop your head. Before you descend into a futile attempt at yanking the outfit from your body, you see a card sitting on the kitchen table. You race over to it and see in glittering letters on the front, above a picture of yourself unconscious in your ridiculous costume:
“Congrats on becoming a fluffy poodle girl!”
Your hands tremble as you open the card and read the flowing handwriting within.
“So you’ve decided that you love my outfit so much, that you’d like to keep it forever! Who can blame you? You look SO pretty, and will for the rest of your life! I bet you can’t WAIT to strut your way around the city, showing off how pretty you’ve become! Most guys would think this was a horrific nightmare, but I am SO jealous of your courage to be as pretty as you’ve always wanted to be! I’m glad I could help you make your pink fluffy dreams come true!
I’m heading out of the country permanently, so I’m afraid I’ll never get to see how adorable you look in person. Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll find tons of photos online taken of you in public from jealous onlookers. Aren’t you excited at how much attention you’re going to get? I know I am! I wish I could look in the mirror every morning for the rest of my life and see something as cute and fluffy as you staring back at me!
Just remember, this isn’t a dream! It’s a dream come true!
Love,
K”
The card drops to the floor from your hands. You stare at the wall for a very long time, and eventually make your way to the bathroom, and stare into the mirror. The hat, hair, and collar frame your gaudy face with glittering pink fur. The massive breasts quiver with your shallow breaths, and the big pom poms rest against them. The heeled boots, thick with fur, are still cramping your feet, and the big rustling skirt never seems to stop moving and swishing against your legs.
You spend the rest of the night screaming and pulling at the outfit. Every power tool in your garage winds up breaking against it. You race from room to room, the sensations of the fluffy costume building as you do so, the heavy hat wobbling your head back and forth, the fluffy trim constantly brushing your skin, the pom poms bouncing madly with your movements. This goes on for several days, until you finally collapse from exhaustion.
Laying on the floor, you read the card beside you over and over again, until you fade into sleep, and the words echo through your mind.
Just remember, this isn’t a dream! It’s a dream come true!
Just remember, this isn’t a dream...
this isn’t a dream...
this isn’t a dream...
this isn’t a dream...
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