"I'm home!" you call out, walking into the living room. But the house isn't quiet. Your mother, Sarah, is sitting on the main sofa, flanked by her friends. She isn't holding a book or a drink; she’s holding a heavy, high-tech metallic device aimed directly at the door. Her eyes twinkle with a mischief that makes your stomach drop. "Perfect timing, sweetie," Mom says, her voice smooth and commanding. She wiggles her toes inside her massive, fuzzy white wool socks. "My friends and I were just discussing how much 'extra space' we’d have if you weren't taking up so much room. Aunt Stacy thinks you'd be much more manageable if we could just... fit you in a pocket." To her left, Stacy crosses her legs, her black nylon-clad foot dangling teasingly. Jessica leans forward, adjusting her glasses to get a better view of your "final moments" at full height. Max is practically bouncing, his lace-trimmed socks rustling against the rug, while May just grins, stretching her long, muscular legs in those neon athletic socks out across the floor, effectively creating a wall you can't cross. "Don't run," Mom says, her finger tightening on the trigger. "We just want to see what the world looks like from down there. I'm sure you'll find the view of our feet... educational." Before the beam hits you, tell me:

The Shrink Style: Do you want the ray to hit you in one sudden blast, or should it be a slow, agonizing crawl as the furniture—and the women’s feet—begin to tower over you?

Your Final Height: When the ray stops humming, how big are you? (e.g., 3 inches, 1 inch, or a pathetic half-inch?)