It was unreal. I mean seriously. Four months ago, I was a miserable sixty-five year old man battling arthritis and constant indigestion before changing into a ten year old girl. Being ten is a definite improvement over sixty-five except being forced to go back to school. But it was being a girl that was the most horrific aspect of my new change. Facing a future of boys, proms, make-up, frilly clothes and getting pregnant, not necessarily in that order, left me depressed. Maybe most ten year old girls look forward to all that crap, but not me.

That was four months ago.

Oh, my attitude hasn’t changed. I just stopped screaming about it. Now my future has become even more murky.

It’s Christmas Eve and I’m curled up on a couch holding Mr. Bunny and wrapped in a blanket watching the lights blink on a Christmas tree. Neither the couch nor the tree belong to Mom or me and therein lies the problem. We’re spending the holidays at Oliver’s parents’ house. That would be bad enough. I’ve never had my cheeks pinched so much before. No. Worse than my future doting grandparents is my future bitch aunt. Oliver’s sister still lives at home with said future grandparents and she does not approve of Mom… or me for that matter.

I wasn’t watching it, but a TV next to the Christmas tree was showing a worn out VHS (yes, VHS!) tape of the Grinch. The streaks on the video was bad enough, but the image itself on the TV screen was hard to watch with the whites fading to a little yellowish and other colors bleeding over and the picture has a slight blossoming… blooming? I forget what it’s called. Oliver’s parents’ TV has a freaking nineteen inch CRT! resting in a massive wooden cabinet. The speaker rattles when the sound has a lot of bass. I feel like we’re spending our holiday at the Smithsonian.

“Maybe we should talk in the kitchen,” Oliver said in a soft voice. “She’ll hear us.”

“Nah. That little twerp is asleep,” said my future bitch aunt otherwise known as Catherine.

I could see the frown in Oliver’s voice as he said, “You need to be nicer to Chrystal. She’s going to be your niece soon.”

“I need to be nice? I heard that little brat telling that stupid bunny of hers that it shouldn’t call Aunt Catherine a cunt. A ten year old! The fact that a girl her age knows such words is a sign of bad parenting.”

With a chuckle in his voice, Oliver said, “Well, she’s right. Mr. Bunny shouldn’t say that.”

Catherine growled, “See? You encourage it. Honestly, Ollie, I don’t know what you see in that woman.”

Oliver sighed. “Look. She’s beautiful. She’s intelligent…” Catherine snerked at that point. “What do you have against her?”

“For starters she has that brat kid,” sneered Catherine. “Do you really want an instant family? Don’t you want your own kid?”

“So Dede should be punished because she has a child? What kind of man would I be to reject her for that reason?”

“A smart one,” said his lovely, loving sister. “Her daughter is a little hellion. She doesn’t even know who the father is!”

“He’s dead,” said Oliver with a tinge of anger in his voice. And that’s sad but true. Both my parents are dead.

“Oh.” There was a long pause. “But still. She’s not a great mother to her own child. What about when she has yours?” Oh come on, Uncle Daddy. He hates it when I call him that. Let her know I used to be a man.

Sounding furious, Oliver said, “I will not tolerate you talking that way about the woman I love. I don’t need your permission to marry her. And to be fair to Dede, she really wasn’t ready to be a mommy yet.”

Catherine chuckled. “I bet.”

“Why do I even talk to you?”

The conversation was thankfully cut off by the return of Mom and Oliver’s parents returning from the backyard.

Mom said, “Brrr! It’s cold out there.”

I heard Oliver stand up. “Well come here, baby. I’ll warm you up.” I heard them kiss. I’m glad I had my eyes closed.

Aunt Catherine said, “Hey Mom! Are there any leftovers left?”

I heard someone step next to me. “Looks like I better get little sleepyhead here to bed so Santa can arrive.”

Oliver chuckled. “Yeah. She’s got a big day tomorrow. You should never have told Mom she likes dolls.”

Mom giggled. “Did she go overboard?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you pick her up for me? She’s getting heavy,” said Mom.

As she was munching on something, Aunt Catherine said, “Doesn’t surprise me, the way she was putting away those cookies this afternoon.”

As he scooped me up, Oliver said, “Cat, can you just lay off?”

“Just sayin’.”

As Oliver gently set me down on the bed I was sleeping on for the holidays, Mom asked, “What’s this bug Cat has up her ass?”

Oliver sighed as he pulled the covers over me. “She’s just doing what she does best.”

I giggled to myself. Yeah. Being a bitch.

To be continued…