"You mean go without capital letters or punctuation?" Jon asked.
"No, in these clothes, man. How can I take even one step out of here wearing a camouflage tank top, a dark green lycra miniskirt, and leopard-print high heels?"
"I guess you better take small steps at first," Jon replied. "Anyway, those legs of yours are fabulous! You may as well show 'em off. And those abs: they're killer! I don't remember you having a six-pack before."
"Ya think?" Joseph asked, taking a slow spin in front of the full-length mirror near the exit. "I guess my waist, ribcage, and shoulders are a bit smaller than before, though. Damn, these thong panties feel weird. But look at you! A lilac pleated miniskirt with black trim, lace ankle socks, and black patent leather buckle-ups! Where'd you get that shirt?"
"This old thing?" Jon asked with surprise, then he truthfully replied, "I just stuck my hand in the closet this morning and this is what came out."
"Well, that yellow with the lilac is really something," Joseph observed.
Suddenly the voice of Ms. Voigt, the hall monitor, boomed and echoed off the tiled walls. "No hiding in the washrooms!" she shouted in a voice about three octaves lower than Jon recalled. Then she entered the room wearing a thin white blouse, a mostly-visible lacy white bra, and a pair of tight light blue cotton-and-lycra coaching shorts that clearly revealed her package.
"What are you to doing in here, playing dress-up?" she boomed in her new, lower, and more forceful voice. "Anyway, you look OK to me. Get yourselves to class before I put you on detention."
"Yes ma'am, or whatever," Jon answered, although he didn't actually say, "or whatever," out loud. With one hand on the wall, Joseph stumbled shortly behind.
