I was two feet taller than usual today. I first noticed this morning, when I saw that my knees were hooked over the end of the bed, while my head rested against the opposite wall. As I attempted to enter my black 1991 Dodge Grand Caravan, I simultaneously banged my shins and whacked myself very hard in the chest. My ribs have been sore all day. Using my computer today I noticed I had to reach much further to press buttons and such. Apparently the increase in my height occured solely in my torso, as my arms and legs seemed to be approximately the length I was used to. I had a great deal of trouble balancing as I walked. At my dance recital earlier this evening I was a laughingstock. My dance partner, Maricelle, very nearly refused to take the stage with me; only at Madame Rebekkah’s insistence did she strap on her shoes and come out with me. It was foolish of me to go on, having full knowledge of my condition, but in my brazen bullheadedness I forged ahead without caution. Suffice it to say, it was a disaster. First and foremost, my leotard no longer fit, and so there was a body-cleaving wedgie running up the middle of both sides of my body. Perhaps more disastrous was the fact that Maricelle’s leaps were now two feet short; and so, not once, not twice, but thrice did she go sailing past as my arms failed to catch her. On the fourth, fatal pass, she knocked me off balance and I flipped forward into the orchestra pit.

The whole situation was quite queer.

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