Can you die of self-inflicted cuteness? Some Enchanted Girlfriend by Donna Lamb 5. Hanging Up

 
“Well, who else would be calling? It’s not even seven o’clock yet,” I said. How did I know it was him, though? I hadn’t done any thinking about it at all.

He laughed and I did giggle, I just couldn’t help it.

“Which do you want; a bowl of oatmeal with fruit, cream and maple syrup, or a bagel with egg, ham and cheese? And what goes in your coffee?” He asked.

“Uh, oatmeals,” I said. “I love oatmeals.” I do? And I call it oatmeals? Is it possible to die of self-inflicted cuteness? “But not in the coffee.” I giggled.

He laughed again and I forgot to be annoyed at myself; making him laugh was worth embarrassing myself.

“Okay, babe,” he said. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Hot, sweet and creamy,” I heard myself purr. Crap. Crap. Crap.

He made the sound of rocks being dropped in a rain barrel again. I stopped myself from wriggling just from hearing it.

“Have you remembered anything? Uh?” he asked.

“Olive oil,” I said. “No, I mean, Olive Oyl.”

“Huh?”

“What’s-his-name’s girlfriend....”

“Oh. Popeye?”

“Yeah, Popeye’s girlfriend.” I blinked. The one-eyed sailor from the frat party? No, wait, that can’t be right. A cartoon sailor. I went to a frat party with a cartoon sailor?

“I yam what I yam,” Tim said, in a growly voice.

I shook my head, pulling myself back from the brink of nonsense. “Not him, her. Olive Oyl, I remembered her.”

“Uh-huh. What about her? I don’t think your name is Olive.”

“She said something. I remembered. In a movie. She said something in a movie and I remembered it.” But it wasn’t a cartoon movie, wtf?

Silence.

I stood on one foot and then the other for a moment; for some reason my feet hurt.

“What did she say?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you,” I said, remembering just in time what it was she had said that I had remembered and why I couldn’t repeat it to him. She even sang a song about her large boyfriend and his – largeness.

Tim laughed again. “I’m coming right back with the coffee and stuff, okay? Then maybe I’ll go find you some clothes somewhere. Only place I can think of open early on Sunday is Walmart. That okay, babe?” He seemed amused.

“Anything,” I said. “Walmart. Really?”

“What?”

“Eww.” I made a face. Mostly to be funny and try to make him laugh again but from looking around his apartment, he could afford to buy me clothes someplace besides fricken Walmart.

He did laugh then said, “Coffee’s up, be right there,” and hung up on me.

I stood holding the phone a moment, then put it back on the little table where I’d found it.

Leaning against the wall, I picked up my feet, one at a time and rubbed my insteps and my heels. They hurt, a burning sensation that wasn’t at all pleasant. And my tits hurt, obviously whoever I was, I didn’t go around barefoot or braless very much.

Whoever I was?

I stepped over to the breakfast bar and climbed up on one of the stools, folding my arms under my boobs again to give them some support while I got off my feet.

Whoever I was?

Well, obviously, I was me. But the me I sort of remembered was a guy. Not a girl with big tits and sore feet. Who couldn’t remember her name.

Okay. Now wait. Wait.

Trying to follow a thought I had, I rubbed the insteps of my sore feet on the rungs of the stool. That felt good. And stretching my feet out like I was standing on tiptoe felt good. High heels, I thought, I probably wear high heels all the fricken time.

I looked at my legs. Very smooth and girlish and shapely, especially when I flexed my calves and extended my dainty little feet. My hands and feet both seemed small, even for a short girl. My toenails were all neatly trimmed and looked shiny but without any polish on them. I’d already noticed that about my fingernails.

I held my hands out, looking at them again, fingers spread where I could see the nails. Definitely longer than a man would wear them and shiny. Could you make nails shine without putting polish on them? “That’s what those little sandpaper boards are probably for,” I said aloud. Or maybe not, what did I know?

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about stuff I didn’t know, I wanted to think about stuff I didn’t remember.

I did remember being a guy. And I didn’t know things a girl ought to know, except some things that might be wired in like how to look cute. Really? It did seem to be easy to do unlike remembering names.

I wondered if Tim thought I was cute.

Try to stay on one line of thought besides that one, I told myself. Sheesh. Of course, he thinks I’m cute; he’s a guy and I’ve got tits. I glanced down at them, they might be a bit large for just cute.... Heck, they might be big enough to take me out of the cute category entirely. I worried for a moment that they were too big, that Tim didn’t really like them being so big.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

I’m a girl, I reminded myself again. I don’t remember being a girl. Amnesia can do some funny things but I never heard of anyone forgetting what sex they were. And it wasn’t that I just didn’t remember sitting down to pee, I remembered being a guy with all the apparatus and appurtenances thereto encumbered.

So.... So? How could that happen? If I used to be a guy, how come I’m a girl now, I wondered. Things like that just don’t happen in real life.

That would leave hallucinations and delusions. But I didn’t feel crazy. “Maybe a bit ditzy,” I admitted aloud. “But, jeez, it takes some getting used to!” If any girl ever had a right to be a ditz, I felt that I did. And I seemed to actually be enjoying it, which also worried me a bit.

“So, like, I’m so blonde!” I said aloud. As good an excuse as any and better thinking I’m crazy.

I tried pinching myself but that hurt. “I’m not asleep, I’m not crazy, I.... What does that leave? Drugs? Hypnosis? Aliens? Magic?”

I remembered having been hypnotized once. This didn’t feel like that because when you’re hypnotized one part of you is still in on the gag and you’re just agreeing to let the other part of you get fooled. It’s like a real intense game of pretend when you were a kid; if your mom calls out that it’s dinner time, the game has to end.

How the heck could I remember having been hypnotized back in high school when I couldn’t remember my own name? I remembered the bleachers near the football field, the cool wind that blew because it was October. But not my name or the name of the high school?

Or how I turned into a blonde cupcake and got into Tim’s apartment without any clothes? It didn’t make sense.

Drugs might be a possibility but I couldn’t figure out how to test whether I might be drugged. Wait and see if it wears off was the only thing I could figure out. But I didn’t feel drugged.

Which left the possibility of something like aliens or magic. Or maybe alien magic. And those possibilities were just weird, worse than drugs because they might never wear off and there might never be an explanation. I might be stuck being a girl for a long time. Forever! And never know why!

Ouch. Talk about depressing. Or well, no, I wasn’t depressed, just annoyed. Fricken magic aliens shouldn’t mess with me!

I turned around and looked up at the door just before Tim knocked and called out. “I’m back! Wanna come get some stuff, babe?” I heard him put a key in the lock and turn it.

“Sure!” I said, jumping off the stool and running for the door. I’d known he was there before he said anything and how the heck did I do that?