When the alarm in his head went off, Michael rolled over to turn on his George Foreman grill. That’s when he felt a stab of fear because he couldn’t find the bacon in the dark. It took a few seconds before it all came flooding back… this wasn’t his condo anymore. Jan had moved in weeks ago and changed his whole ‘bachelor pad’ layout. One of the first things to go was his George Foreman grill. It now sat, ignored, on his back patio. The next beloved item to go was his futon. Then it was his living room blow-up chairs and bean bags. He’d cried when she let the air out of his couch. And last week… even the poker table for potential poker nights had disappeared while he was at work.

He didn’t recognize the place anymore. It was like Jan-land. Not that Jan-land was bad thing… It was just… well, he still hadn’t had that poker night at his place yet and what guy would want to come over to play poker on an Amish farmhouse trestle table? It was perfect for scrapbooking, of course, but still…. Michael tried to look on the bright side. Jan was nesting. That was what she was doing. He’d read all about it in Cosmo; women nested.

“Women nested,” he repeated aloud in a sing-song voice.

Out of the darkness, a sleepy man’s voice groggily asked, “What?”

Horrified, Michael rolled away from the voice and, misjudging Jan’s new bed dimensions, fell unceremoniously onto the floor. He screamed “OW!” as he hit his knee. Michael quickly clamped his hand over his mouth, ashamed at his high-pitched squeak.

“God, are you okay? What are you doing… it’s 7… oh god, it’s 6 a.m.” Michael could have sworn he’d heard that voice before and he knew for a fact that it wasn’t Jan’s deep morning, smoker voice.

Unbidden, a light switched on. Michael looked around in confusion. There must be another person in the room! Two people! Someone other than the guy in his bed must be in the room because the only way to turn on the light switch was to get out of bed and cross to the light switch. Jan complained about it all the time.

“I can explain,” Michael said quickly as he turned around to face the light switch. He expected to see Jan at the door with that one judging eyebrow raised as she drunk in the sight of a strange man in Michael’s bed. Bewildered, he froze. Not bewildered because he didn’t have an explanation… he never did have an explanation... No, bewildered because there was no Jan, there was no light switch, and there was NO DOOR!  

He stared at the large expanse of wall that featured a sole random art poster. Cripes, he thought, Jan’s walled up the door to the hallway while I was asleep. He shook his head in wonder.  He knew he should have bought that stupid nightlight like she wanted! This is what happened when Jan didn’t get her way. Doors disappeared! Light switches gone! No more blow up couches!

“Here, let me help you. You’ve gotten all tangled up in the sheets,” a strong arm wrapped itself around Michael’s stomach. Another arm was supporting his back. Before the shock of the situation made its way into Michael’s morning-addled mind, he had been lifted back onto the bed. With horror, he saw Jim (NAKED JIM!) looking at him in concern. In a baby voice, Jim cooed, “Did my baby hurt herself? Let daddy kiss it and make it better…”

“Ew! Ew! Ew!” Michael squealed as he pushed himself away. God knows what Michael had touched to pull himself off the bed, but he was positive it involved cooties and all sorts of extra grossness. “Jesus! What are you doing in my bed! Get out of my bed! Aaaaigh! Put a sheet on! Cover that!” Michael’s voice was high-pitched and unnatural to his ears, but the whole situation was so unnatural he didn’t care what he sounded like.  “Where did you! How did you get in my! Where’s!” Michael tried to collect himself.   “Seriously, Packer said you were queer but…” Michael lost it again, “I am not that type of!” He covered his eyes so he wouldn’t see any more Jim nakidity. He attempted to back out of the room with his eyes closed. Using his other four heightened senses he tried to find the bathroom door, which should have been right around …. unless Jan dry-walled over that, too!

“Did you bump your head? Are you okay? Come here, let me look…” Jim’s voice oozed concern.

Michael could not prevent a full body shudder.  With frenzied motion, his hand found a doorknob. He turned it, pushed himself out of the bedroom, and slammed the door shut. Breathing hard, he locked the door the moment he heard Jim scrambling out of the bed.

Michael turned and froze. There, directly across from him, above the sink, through the window, was a naked woman’s BOOBS!  Generations upon generations of men knew what to do in this exact situation; it’s built into their DNA. Freeze. Don’t startle the breasts! He didn’t know whose boobs they were. It didn’t matter. The important thing was to stand still and not move. Sudden motion always caused women’s breasts to flee like…. Like… Michael’s brain stuttered to a stop. Now was not the time for complex metaphors or similars. All his brain power was needed now to focus on the boobs. Don’t spook ‘em, he thought. They were pretty nice breasts, he decided. Not too small. Pert nipples. Very nice red areoles. They definitely looked firm from here. No god-awful tan lines. He felt a moment of disloyalty towards Jan for thinking that thought, but there it was. He didn’t like tan lines. Sue him.

He imagined what it would be like to touch those breasts. It would be completely wrong and he’d never do it because he was a one-breast man…. a one woman man with breasts… a one woman with breasts, oh never mind….  Wowzers! This was like the longest he’d been allowed to legally look at a woman’s breasts without getting slapped. The breasts weren’t moving. Maybe she was dead? No, she couldn’t be dead. Dead people didn’t stand up, they lay down. Michael suddenly realized a naked woman was standing right there outside his window exposing her breasts at him. She was like the reverse of a peeping tom. This was the most awesome thing that had ever happened to him ever. This is why he loved America.

A few moments passed before he realized that Jim was pounding on the door behind him and shouting stuff. Michael wondered if maybe he should call Jim in here to see the peeping breasts. He started to raise his hand to unlock the door, when he suddenly remembered that Jim was queer now and probably wouldn’t care about a naked… hold the phone! She was moving. Michael stopped breathing. Maybe she was going to start doing jumping jacks!

Meanwhile, across town,

Pam was asleep.

Back to the Boobs,

Michael waited. Nothing happened. He sighed. The breasts jiggled slightly. His mouth dropped open. Swallowing, he took a step closer towards… she was moving again! He paused in mid-stride. She paused in mid-jiggle. Huh, he thought. This is like those Bugs Bunny cartoons where he copies everything Daffy Duck does and so Daffy thinks he’s looking in a mirror… Michael’s brain started shouting, Stop, stop, stop! This is not a cartoon. These are real, live breasts! Real live jiggling breasts and they need your full attention! Michael took a deep breath to calm himself down. The boobs swelled and wobbled slightly. His eyes bugged out. “Uuuh,” he whispered coherently.

Jim’s pounding was getting more and more furious. If he didn’t stop, he would wake everyone in the complex. “Shut it,” Michael whispered throatily. He kicked the door with the back of his foot.

 The pounding stopped. “Pam?” Jim’s concerned voice was crystal clear.

Michael panicked! Oh my god, he thought, Pam is outside my window naked, peeping tomming me! Act cool! Act natural! What was something a guy would do who didn’t know some breasts were outside his window? “So, I think I’ll shave now,” he squeaked out.

Jim’s confused voice reverberated through the door, “You’ll what? You got up at 6 a.m. to shave your legs?”

“Are you kidding me? Shave my legs? Only queers would…” Michael’s voice trailed off. He’d forgotten that Jim was queer now. For all he knew, Jim might have been shaving his legs for years. Michael wondered briefly if Oscar shaved is legs, too.

As he was considering Oscar’s legs, Michael’s eyes naturally went back to staring at possibly Pam’s breasts. He thought they had the right size for Pam’s breasts. He lifted his hand to measure their cup size and was startled to see possibly Pam’s hand rise in the same motion. Deja View, he thought. This is the Bugs Bunny sketch all over again. All right, he thought, two can play at that game. He brought his hands towards his breasts and watched happily as she brought her hand towards her breasts.

That’s right, easy, easy and BOOM! With a quick grab he held his big, firm boob in his hand and squeezed. Whereupon he screamed, “Aiiiiiiiie!”

Back to sleeping Pam -

When an alarm went off, Pam instinctively thought it was the fire alarm. “Ohmygod! Get out of bed! It’s a fire!” She leaped to her feet and hit the ground hard, bruising the bottoms of her heels. She’d somehow misjudged the floor or, she incoherently thought, the bed had been shortened during the night.

There was a pounding noise and the alarm stopped. A strange woman’s voice murmured, “Not a fire, you idiot, and no, there is no bacon.”

In the dark, Pam kneeled on the floor, trying to judge her surroundings. “Jim,” she said tentatively. Maybe he was doing one of his impressions. The voice had been like a very bad impression of Jan.

She could hear mumbling noises coming from his side of the bed. For a moment, Pam considered going back to bed, but the adrenalin coursing through her veins told her that was impossible. Might as well get an early start on the day, she decided. She headed to the bathroom and walked smack dab into a wall. “Ow,” she said in a rough voice.

Pam could have sworn Jim said “Moron” under his breath.

Using her hands, she slowly guided herself around the room. She found the door to the closet and from that was able to figure out where the door to the bathro… hallway was.  Feeling very discombobulated,  she lurched down the pitch black hallway out to the kitch… her screams echoed through the complex as she tumbled down the stairs.

Meanwhile, in Boobland,

Michael’s scream was enough for Jim, “I’m breaking down the door!!!” Shudders rocked the condo as Jim slammed into the bathroom door.

Michael stared in fascinated horror at his breasts. His pecs were gone.  He had breasts! Women’s breasts! All thoughts of the woman, possibly Pam, outside his window were gone. He had bigger concerns! One, he had breasts! Two, he had BOOBS! Huge, friggin’ huge, boobies. Not chesticles, we’re talking momma mammeries.

He thankfully fainted.

Back at the bottom of a staircase somewhere in Scranton,

“Ow…ow…ow,” Pam whimpered. She felt parts of her body and was dismayed to see that already the swelling was beginning. Her arm felt HUGE. She just knew that she’d have intense bruising. Her neck hurt and her back and her legs and just everything hurt. She waited for Jim to come running down the mysteriously appearing stairs to take care of her. After several moments, when there was not even the hint of a peep of a sound, she started crying silently.

Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she felt around her until she found the bottom stair. Where was she? Was she at Jim’s? She was sure they’d gone back to her apartment, but there were no stairs at her apartment… She’d had a couple of drinks at dinner last night but still... she'd remember where she was, wouldn't she? “Jim,” she whispered pleadingly. She wanted him to come and kiss all the pain away.

On a tiled bathroom floor across town,

Michael felt warmth surround him and he felt safe. His body responded and he curled into the fetal position. His eyes popped open at the sound of “Shhh, you’re safe. It was just a nightmare.” Michael looked up into Jim’s worried eyes. Naked Jim’s worried eyes.

“I think I’m going to puke,” Michael groaned. For a second he’d actually believed Jim. It was just a nightmare…. except the nightmare was continuing and Naked Jim was playing a leading role.

Jim hastily pulled Michael up and led him to the toilet. Jim even held Michael’s hair back which was probably the most gay thing he could have done, in Michael’s book. The need to hurl vanished as Michael went over in his mind what he had just thought… ‘holding my hair back’. Now Michael was proud of his implants and the rogaine treatments but not even he could be optimistic enough to say that there was hair to hold back.

Long hair? Boobs? Next thing, Michael thought, you’ll say my…. With dread, he looked down. It was worse than he feared. “My penis,” he screamed, “My penis!”

Jim let out a small laugh, “I seriously hope that is not your new nickname for me.  Think what a field day Dwight would have.”

Michael quailed at the image of Dwight walking in on them, Jim and Michael naked in Michael’s bathroom. Michael, minus penis, plus boobs. Anyone would get the wrong idea, let alone Dwight. “Jim, go look in the bed, I think my penis has fallen off.”

“Whoa! What? What kind of nightmare were you having? Jeez, no wonder you’re…” Jim was trying to hug Michael.

“Get off! Get off… ugh! Yuck! No! Do I have to…! Let me go! Don’t move! Stay here. Put a towel on, for god’s sake!” Michael jerked out of the bathroom through the sagging, broken door.

With the light from the bathroom, he was now able to see into the bedroom. Immediately, he grabbed his boxers at the end of the bed. They felt loose, but was that a surprise? He was obviously missing some vital bits that filled out the…. He ripped the sheets off the bed searching for his missing penis. Jim stood in the doorway, now wrapped in a pink towel. Michael groaned when he saw it. God, he thought, he’s so gay he even brought his own pink towel!

Back at the bottom of the mysteriously appearing staircase,

Pam, groaning with pain, slowly stood up and felt along the wall for a light switch. With a flick of the wrist the stairway was lit up. She stared at the carpeted stairs in confusion. This wasn’t Jim’s staircase! For one thing there was no laundry on the bottom step to be hauled up and for another… her brain suddenly received the information that her eyes had been sending. She was looking at an arm, her arm, that had reached out to turn on the light. It was tan and HAIRY! She leaped backwards in shock, slamming against the wall behind her.

“Ow,” she grunted. The grunt was deep and harsh and not Pam-like in any way possible. “My name is…” she stopped. It wasn’t her voice at all. She looked down at her body, or a body, somebody’s body, not her body. She realized she was going into shock. With a trembling finger, she prodded the protuberance and tried to keep from giggling madly. Protuberance. She remembered when Michael had hit a wall and then complained about a protuberance. Now she’d hit a wall and she had a… she swallowed hard when the finger touched it. It was most definitely NOT a protuberance. It was most definitely a man’s….

Unsteadily, she stumbled to the linen slipper couch in the living room. She had no idea where she was and no idea why she was in a man’s body. Suddenly, a possibility struck her.  I fell down the stairs, I probably hit my head. I’m probably having hallucinations like when Dwight hit the pole and got a concussion. That’s it! I have a concussion and I think I’m… “OH my god!” She screamed aloud, “I think I’m DWIGHT!”

It took several seconds for rational thought to return. Luckily, there hadn't been a gun nearby or she might have done something stupid in those few crazy moments.  Wait a second, she realized, I don’t think I’m Dwight. I know I’m me. It’s just my body that thinks it’s someone else. And my apartment thinks it’s someone else’s, too. Okay, that doesn’t make any sense, but I know I am Pam and I am definitely, definitely not Dwight.

“God, Michael!” The voice rocketed Pam off of the couch. Jan was standing at the bottom of the stairs in a pair of mismatched stained sweats. Her dirty hair was unbrushed. Pam could tell even from here that her breath was foul. Jan was looking straight at her, eyeballing her. “Do you always have to make such a production in the morning? Is it sooo hard to get up….do not even THINK of saying ‘That’s what she said’! Don’t. even. think. It.”

That was definitely the LAST thing that Pam had been thinking. Actually, the most calm thing that Pam had been thinking was ‘God, she’s even more hostile at home. I didn’t think it was possible!’

Jan withering glance spoke volumes, “So I guess you want me to make you some breakfast? I assume that’s what this whole scene is about?”

“Uh,” Pam looked around. Breakfast wasn’t really a top priority. Finding a mirror was.

In a condescending voice, Jan said, “Oh, poor little Michael gets yelled at so he goes into stupid mode. Oh yes, this is the life I want. Good, fine. Here’s the new deal, Michael. You wake me up at 6:30 a.m., YOU make ME breakfast. The kitchen’s over there!” She pointed as if she were talking to an imbecile.

Pam slowly moved in the direction Jan was pointing while she tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound insane. Pam felt a sudden sense of calm. She realized she could say anything, no matter how asinine, and Jan wouldn’t blink an eye. Pam tested the theory, “Do you want an omelet? Where are the pans?”

“God, I’ve told you a million times,” Jan nearly exploded. Pam smiled, she’d figured right. Jan harped on, not giving Pam time to answer, “Why do you act like I rearranged the kitchen to ‘hide your stuff’? The kitchen is fit now for normal human beings!  All the dishes are together! All the utensils are together! And do not even think to bring up the crap I threw out. Honestly, Michael, what have you been saving packets of Horsey Sauce for? You don’t even use Horsey Sauce.”

Pam felt obligated to defend her… er, Michael’s, self. “Well, if I had a party and someone…”

Jan jumped on that like a bear on honey, “Oh, give it up. You will never in a million years have a party that anyone will come to. Ever. God, sometimes… Michael. Remember that 4th of July  Blowout that I spent THREE DAYS decorating this place for? Do you?”

“Uh,” Pam looked guiltily at the eggs in her hand. Michael had invited her to that and she’d said she would stop by if the other party she was going to let out early. She’d actually spent the night cuddled in Jim’s arms watching the Philadelphia fireworks on T.V.  Jim. On auto-pilot, she broke the eggs into the pan. Jim. He hadn’t called her a moron. He wasn’t the one who hadn’t come down the stairs to help her when she fell. Jim would never have called her a moron. He would have helped her.  It was Jan. Pam looked at Jan with a new awareness.

“Maybe we should break up,” Pam said calmly.