The first changes he made were subtle. The color of my hair, the shape of my nose; always changing my features back as quickly as he altered them. Gradually, we started making dramatic changes; scrambling my cells to give me a younger body. Last week, I was a teenager, then a quick treatment in the machine and I was back in my old body again without a hitch.
Everything had been going so well that we were days ahead of schedule. We decided to take a break from testing for a couple of days and relax before we started the final test sequence. On Friday morning we turned on the main breaker and began warming the power supplies. We went through the entire pre-test inspection without any problems. I stepped on the testing stage and became what I am now. It was only when we tried to change me back that we realized that something had gone wrong. Paul hit the execute button on the main console and the machine cycled and appeared to operate, but when the Mixmaster field went down, I was still in a baby’s body. For some reason, the Mixmaster has been unable to return me to my normal appearance.
My colleague called my wife after repeated attempts to change me back failed. She rushed over in her car to see me. Paul had locked the office door and wouldn’t let her in until she had established her identify. I firmly believe in keeping my professional life and personal life separate and had never introduced them. It was an awkward meeting at best. Paul opened the door and pointed to where he had sat me in my office chair. The sight of me regressed into a tot must have stunned her, because she stood motionless with a funny half-smile on her face for a full five minutes before she said a word. Then she came over and picked me up and sat down on my office chair with me on her lap. She sat there for the better part of an hour, holding my sadly reduced body and rocking me. She kept calling me her darling, her honeybunch, her baby. It was not until later that I was to realize how prophetic her endearments would be.
Finally she got up and took me home after bundling me in the lab’s emergency fire blanket. She stopped at a twenty-four hour grocery store and bought me some clothes to wear on the way home. Everyone stared at the woman with a toddler wrapped up in a blanket, but no one said anything. I guess they thought I was sick or something. She couldn’t find anything for me to wear except infant underwear and diapers. I quailed and hid my face in the blanket when she leaned over the shopping cart and whispered that she was thinking of buying me diapers, so she bought me the only other thing that would fit; training pants!
Paul calls my wife every day to see how I am doing and tell me what progress he’s making on my problem. I’m beginning to lose hope. My wife has suggested that she take me shopping for a new wardrobe before the end of the week. I’ve been able to put her off so far, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it much longer. It’s just that I don’t want to be seen like this. Also, since the only clothes that really fit me are baby clothes, I’m sure she’ll take me to a baby boutique. The thought of parading around a baby store in training pants with my wife holding my hand while she shops is too much to bear. What if I can’t keep up with her? Would she pick me up and carry me? The idea of being toted on her hip like a small child sends shivers up my spine. I can picture the condescending smiles of the women in the store as they see me hide my head against her shoulder in shame. What if I had to go to the bathroom? Would she take me into the women’s toilet to use the kiddie potty? I’d never live it down.