Realizing there was precious little I could do about my current predicament in the middle of the night like this, I pulled up Mrs. Dormer's humongous panties (they fit with disturbingly comfortable snugness), let down her nightgown again, and exited the Dormer family bathroom.
The entire family was asleep.
Unsurprising, I reflected, since it was the middle of the night. However, mere moments ago, it had been early morning for me. I was still alert, bright eyed, bushy tailed, and incredibly wide awake – in large part due to the shock of abruptly finding myself in the body of a middle-aged woman and friend of my mom's.
“What to do, what to do?” I whispered to myself with Mrs. Dormer's voice as I quietly waddled about her living room, pacing nervously.
“I should contact my old body,” I said to myself. “And I should track down that crazy old bat that cursed me.”
The trouble was, I couldn't exactly go waddling around town in the middle of the night waking up my old body or playing amateur detective.
“Maybe I'd better just explore a bit of Ellen's life before Ray wakes up,” I said to myself.
The thought made me cringe. That fat, hairy, old man in the master bedroom was my husband. Disgusting. What was I going to do? I couldn't just accept my fate and live like this forever!
“Calm down,” I told myself. “You can't do anything until after sunrise. So let's quietly explore Mrs. Dormer's life … I mean Ellen's life … I mean my life.”
I found Mrs. Dormer's purse slung over a chair in the kitchen. At first I felt pretty guilty rummaging around through it. I had to remind myself that right now I was wearing her nightgown and panties, not to mention inhabiting her body. I had Mrs. Dormer's breasts, her voice, her fingerprints, even her DNA. At the moment, I was Ellen Dormer. So why feel guilty about looking through my own purse, right?
There wasn't a whole lot new to learn here. My driver's license confirmed I was Ellen Marie Dormer, age 47, five feet two inches tall, weighs 175 lbs.
Yes, I'm a fat, over the hill, housewife. Nothing new there.
What else is in the purse? A small pink bottle of strawberry scented hand sanitizer, some hairbands and bobby pins, a little makeup case and compact mirror, a tube of breath mints, a set of car keys with a pink leopard-print key fob, and a tampon sealed up in blue and white paper wrapper.
“Ewww,” I sighed. “That's also mine now, isn't it?”
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