“Yeah, we have a big game Friday,” said Dean, a little more nervous than before. “I don’t think chinchillas are all that great at blocking tackles.”
“Give me a minute,” snapped Sylvia. She was frantically looking through a huge leather bound book.
Dean and Lucille looked at each other. The clock (Mr Burnbaum’s lizard tongue original) ticked loudly. Lucille sighed. “That was three minutes, I timed it. Haven’t you found the answer?”
Sylvia bit her lip. “I know I’ve seen the formula in here…was it on the left page…here’s that dragon’s gall beauty scrub…”
“This is taking too long,” said Lucille. “I’m asking the Googoyle.”
“That may be a good idea,” said Dean. He didn’t want to offend Sylvia, but picturing life as a chinchilla was making him feel a little nauseous.
“Who mixes up a love potion with a recipe for human a’ la small furry animal?” muttered Lucille as she walked over to the black box. When she opened it, the Googoyle sighed. “Enter your search,” he mumbled.
“Reverse a chinchilla potion.”
“There are 300,452,684 results. Would you like me to…” he trailed off. Maybe he was asleep.
“Read me the WikiHow article,” said Lucille.
It sounded like a lot of mumbo jumbo to her, but Sylvia was scribbling notes furiously. “Ok, got it,” she said. The Googoyle fell asleep again.
“You have pretty handwriting,” said Dean. “Sort of, unique.”
“Unique is the right word,” snorted Lucille. “It looks like chicken scrawl.”
“At least I can write,” said Sylvia. “Doesn’t your hand cramp up because you only ever text?”
“Don’t smile at me, chinchilla,” snapped Lucille.
He raised his lip and showed off a toothy grin.
She laughed. “Bro, you’re crazy.”
“Drink this,” said Sylvia, handing him a vial of gross smelling liquid.
“Whoever this girl is, she must be pretty special to go through all of this trouble to ask her on a date,” said Lucille. “Are you sure it’s not Fanny Fanbollum?”
“Noooooooo, it’s not Fanny. I mean, she’s great and all, but cheerleaders aren’t my thing.”
“Oh, you like your girls to have brains?” Lucille winked at Sylvia. “See, girl, there’s hope.”
Dean blushed under his chinchilla fur. He had to hold his nose with a paw to get the formula down. “Uggggggggghhhhh, nassssty!”
“You’re human!” gasped Sylvia.
Dean whirled to face the mirror. He had never so happy to see a pimple right on the tip of his very human nose in all his life.
“That’s the good news,” said Sylvia. “The bad news is that the love formula didn’t work because I’m missing an ingredient.”
“Oh,” said Dean.
“We could try something else. Something along the same lines.”
“Do it,” said Lucille. “I’ve always wanted to see what Dean would look like as rooster or a cockroach.”
“Shut up,” said Dean.
Lucille stuck out her tongue.
“Here’s one that makes you always tell the truth,” suggested Sylvia.
“Oh, brilliant,” said Lucille. “What happens when she asks if something makes her butt look fat?”
“True,” said Dean. “Although she’s not fat. But, you know…”
“Yeah, best to stay away from truth potions,” agreed Sylvia. “What about Idiotic Amounts of Bravery? That could help you ask her out.”
“Or Super Human Good Looks?”
“Scratch that one,” said Lucille. “If Dean gets any handsomer, the entire cheer squad is going into cardiac arrest.”
“True,” said Sylvia. “He’s handsome enough already.”
“Really?” asked Dean.
Sylvia blushed. “I just mean that, mathematically speaking, your face does follow the Golden Mean.”
“That’s nerd speak for ‘You’re hot,’” said Lucille, popping her bubble gum. “This is getting good.”
“I think you’re face follows the Golden Mean, too,” said Dean to Sylvia. “I mean, I would think that, if I knew what it meant.”
Sylvia turned pink all the way to the roots of her brown hair. “Really? I could totally teach you about the Golden Mean. It’s this awesome number…”
“I’d love to learn about it,” said Dean. “But it sounds really complicated. Now that I’m human again, why don’t I take you to lunch so you’ll have plenty of time to explain it?”
“Hold on a sec,” broke in Lucille. “Did you just ask Sylvia on a date?”
Dean froze. “Ummm…”
“Whoa,” gasped Lucille. “Is Sylvia the girl you liked all along?”
“Umm, I mean, well…”
“I’d love to go to lunch with you,” said Sylvia.
“Wow, bro,” said Lucille. “You’re smooth.”
What would you do if you got turned into a small furry animal? Would you go out to lunch with the person responsible?