Jon grumbled in the parking lot, transferring moving boxes over from Linda’s new Mercedes to the trunk of his more ‘vintage’ set of wheels. He could hardly pay attention to whatever Linda was ranting on about now, too full of aggravation with how difficult his 'easy day' has been. He had gotten his hands on Grandpa's journals, which wasn’t nothing. They would be key in understanding the stone far beyond the quick chicken scratch of an inheritance note that served as the only explanation for the stone previously. But it came at a high cost and it wasn’t the just the slew of pyramid scheme creams and freshly de-junked artifacts he was now loading the car with. The psychic damage Linda managed to do to his self esteem in a short hour long conversation would need at least a few wishes to repair.
It put his little mirror visits of poking and prodding and picking apart of Sandra's body to shame compared with how quickly and efficiently Linda dissected and hit every nerve Jon felt about his new body. He knew he wasn't Sandra, he knew he shouldn't care about her comments. He wasn’t rudderless, he didn’t gain her weight, or miss out on a career to raise a daughter like Sandra chose to do. He should have no skin in this game whatsoever. But it was still cruel and still preyed on insecurities and oddly enough, invoked a very visceral reaction from Jon. He was defensive of Sandra.
What’s wrong with her? You think a single mother would at least be a little sympathetic to another single mother? Or maybe one that’s her sister?! But nope, everything had to be a competition and it had to be known she was winning it. And it’s not like Sandra’s had it easy, I’d say she’s doing okay considering the hand she had been dealt. She’s keeping her head above water, her place is small but cozy, her car is clean, and it seems like she’s doing a fine job raising Zoe… despite whatever this trouble is… I deserve better and so does Sandra.
Jon completed his quick exit, tata-ing, and almost leaving skid marks in the parking lot. The experience had put him deeply inside his own head, noticing more than ever just how much his chest moved without a bra at every speed-bump, how sweaty his under-boobs could manage to get before noon, noticing just how obscenely wide his hips overfilled his car seat and managed to have both his overflowing thighs be indented by the arm rest and the center console. These things were nothing new for Jon, at least shouldn’t be, but something about that conversation with Linda had seemingly given him a full body case of thinking about where your tongue is supposed to sit in your mouth. Nothing now felt right.
After a very clumsy stop in the loading zone behind a supermarket where Jon struggled and squirmed into a sports bra, plucked from Sandra’s gym bag in the back seat. Hoping he hadn’t been caught topless on some security camera, giving the bra a sniff to see if had been worn (surprise, surprise, it hadn’t), Jon drove, stuck inside his own head by a laundry list of frustrations.
The slow starting A/C would be near the top of the list, the lifting and the heat making Jon sweaty in all sorts of places he was doing his best not to think about. But the headliner would be the bra because to Jon’s chagrin, it felt a lot better wearing one. The support was desperately needed and his nipples felt quite a sense of relief in their new, softer, carriages. At least now they didn’t feel so tender and wouldn’t catch any of his classmates like deer in his proverbial protruding headlights when he came to grab Zoe.
While wearing his white, epitome of femininity was an improvement, it wasn’t all roses. Like womanhood as Jon was beginning to understand it, everything was a compromise.
Sure, it’s helping me keep track of Sandra’s breasts and feel a tad less saggy, but I’m already annoyed by these straps digging into my shoulders and sides. Nothing can ever be simple. So thank you for the well stocked purse and change of clothes you left me, Sandra. Thank you for everything. You couldn't avoid the snacks or jog, but at least you came prepared with a quantum drug store in your bag! Hey, compared to all the other junk you left me, at least this baggage actually turned out helpful.
HONK!
Jon almost stabbed himself in the eye with his lash brush at the other driver's not so gentle reminder that the light had changed. He then took an extra moment to fling the lash brush as if it had become molten hot when he realized the nervous habit his hands had taken to during the tirade.
HOOOOOONK!
He ripped through the intersection, trying to quickly steal glances of Sandra’s handiwork from the rear-view mirror. It wasn’t until another legally enforced pause that Jon could give a more in-depth inspection of his automotive makeover.
And it wasn’t bad. While frustrating that Sandra managed to slip a hand on the wheel while he had his hands on the wheel, she had the right idea. Even just that touch up of his lashes had his eyes looking more alert and awake and a lot less like they needed unwarranted, double-edged advice. For a moment, Jon saw a confidence in Sandra’s eyes that had been lacking and was struck with a peculiar idea.
Putting on makeup is like putting on a mask.
With a several dabs of foundation, a touch of concealer, some wisps of eye shadow, a few angry, impatient people laying on the horn, a peck of blush, and a final coat of lipstick, Jon had created the bit of separation he needed to walk back into the halls of his school confidently. He wasn’t going to get caught by his classmates wearing panties underneath his mom jeans. The weren’t his classmates. The layer of product on his face helped everything feel more like a disguise, that he could now pretend to be Sandra without feeling like he was just being Sandra. He could play this role and no one would be the wiser.
Understanding and sympathizing with both Shelly Duvall and Kubrick at the same time, Jon felt ready to give the performance under duress of a lifetime. He just needed to find Sandra’s voice.
So motivation, Sandra would definitely be frustrated and I’m already furious so that’s a good start. Just need to channel it. What’s a way to be parent mad? I mean, Zoe should definitely be grounded after this if it was mom. Wait, can I ground her? I mean, duh, of course I can! I’m her mom! She wished for this so this now has every right to banish her to her room for good.
I mean seriously, who does she think she is? Did she think this whole week would be some sort of vacation, some blank check to get into all the trouble she could manage without any consequences while I have to suffer? No, absolutely not! Considering how bad she’s going to owe me, you’d think she’d be on her best behavior.
I warned her too, that this would happen, that she would get dress coded and of course she didn’t listen. Because what, I’m a guy and don’t get fashion? Who cares? I know the vice principal is misogynistic asshole who Karyn let me know, harasses a certain type of girl like herself. But no, she never listens and that’s why she’ll be dressing like a Mennonite for the next week…
Okay, wow, that was pretty good. I think I have her down. I guess it’s pretty natural when the character is just ‘being frustrated at Zoey.’ I think I can do this. I can survive a partial school day as Sandra.
After his hurried and harried preparation, Jon caught a glance in the mirror as he rumbled into a parking spot. It froze him completely. The woman in the mirror was... unfiltered, genuine Sandra. Not just Jon wearing her face, but something more. Something familiar, and determined. A single mom, but a loving mom. An overly supportive mom. Someone who would burn across town at the drop of a hat for her daughter.
Jon dabbled around in that fantasy for a brief moment, seeing himself by Zoe's side, being this over the top, doting, affectionate parent before retching comically.
I feel like I just gave myself cooties. Maybe I was getting a bit "too" into character because that tapped into something raw. Like a little adrenaline shot of Sandra I needed. I can do this. Zoe is so screwed after this, but I can do this for her. And I’ll do it while keeping my pride in tact.
With maintaining his male pride on his mind, Jon turned off the engine, spritzed himself with a coat of perfume to hide the smell of sweat, slid out onto his pink accented lady’s trainers, grabbed his purse, double checked his purse for his phone, wallet, and keys, thought he had lost his phone for a second before realizing it had fallen into a side pocket, and finally started with a confident, delicately voluptuous gait up the steps of his school. To survie this, he would fully committing to the bit of being Sandra.
