Maybe that wasn’t a mirror. Maybe it was a photograph in a fancy frame.
So I sat up slowly, watching the mirror. Barbie’s head moved slowly into the frame.
Lifting my hand, I touched my hair. I watched with horrified fascination as a slender little hand, attached to an impossibly slender arm, reached up and touched those horrid rolled bangs.
I blinked. The apparition in the mirror blinked.
I closed my eyes and flopped down again.
It would seem that I, Barbara Samson, have found myself transformed in my bed into a gigantic Barbie.