"Just a little bit on Christie," you say to yourself. "Maybe make her grow a foot or two taller, enough where she'll have insufficient leg room even if she pushed the seat all the way back."
He aimed it at her and pressed slightly. The fluid hit her while wiping the car clean, right between the breasts on her T-shirt, as if she were in a wet T-shirt contest. Within seconds, she was one-and-a-half times larger than before, a shade over eight feet tall and perplexed how her car had suddenly reduced to two-thirds scale.
He watched her confusion, then saw her slink off to her front porch, where she sat amidst her now-diminished surroundings. Should I let her on what happened?, he wondered. Sure, and find out if she likes it. But since you are inherently a good person, take the gun and offer to revert her back to normal if she so desires.
He crossed the street, gun turned off and stashed in his right pocket, and from the porch step stared at Christie. She indeed was immense, but now seemed to be more accepting of her new scale.
"I must tell you the truth...I made you this way,' he said. "I always thought you were kinda hot, and now you are, well, awesome."
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