It was a bright, sunny morning and you were on a mission. You were searching through the aisles of the local supermarket, in search of beers because you’re friends had invited you to a party. Just as you was about to pick the drinks you froze mid-motion. A voice, familiar and far too close for comfort, pierced through the supermarket. It was your girlfriend.

You had made plans with her for a romantic afternoon together, but you forgot about it because of the excitement of the party. But she had clearly not forgotten, and she sounded angry.

You: "I gotta get outta here before she spots me!"

You search desperately for a way out. That’s when you spotted it—an open door at the back of the store.

As you reached the door, your foot caught on something—a rogue shopping basket.

You were cried out, arms flailing as he tumbled forward. You didn’t just trip—you flew through the door, crashing into a rack of women’s clothing.

In true cartoony fashion, you tumbled head over heels, landing smack dab in the middle of the store’s “Le sweet chick” section. The first thing you collided with was a mannequin, which you hilariously slipped through—your body squeezed through its hollow torso and butt section, giving you an exaggerated curvy figure. You wriggled and squawked in confusion, but before he could recover, his disastrous journey continued.

You toppled into another rack of clothes. Rip! All your clothes torn off, only to be replaced by a flowy pink blouse that wrapped around your chest. The fabric swirled around you as you also stumbled forward. You yanked at it, but your hands were immediately caught in another rack. Rip! Your pants were gone, replaced by a frilly skirt that flared around your legs.

Before you knew it, your bare feet slipped into a pair of heels that were waiting right in front of you . You teetered unsteadily, your legs wobbling as you tried to balance on the unfamiliar footwear. Your frantic attempt to walk only made things worse.

With one final stumble, you tumbled backward and landed right into a plush salon chair. His heart sank as mechanical arms sprang from the sides.

“Makeover time!” chirped a cheery automated voice.

“NO! WAIT—!” But it was too late.

The makeup robot mistook you for a customer and got to work. A flurry of brushes, lipsticks, and powders whizzed around you , covering your face with exaggerated makeup. Blush smeared across his cheeks, bright red lipstick was painted on his beak, and a pair of fluttery false eyelashes glued themselves above his wide, panicked eyes.

As if things couldn’t get worse, the robot plopped a curly blonde wig on your head, adjusting it until it sat just right. A mirror swiveled in front of you , showcasing your“new look.”

Before you could do anything you could still hear your girlfriend muttering angrily nearby, her footsteps getting closer. You realizing there was no time to escape now. Your only hope was to stay in disguise and hope your girlfriend wouldn’t recognize you.

“Excuse me,” your girlfriend said, her tone slightly softer than it had been moments ago. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a certain irresponsible guy around here, have you?”