You weren't happy with the changes... well, initially, you screamed and denied the reality. But, it refused to bend back to your pouting tantrums, and you refused to commit suicide over a fate that half the world shared... both before and after the change.
Now, you took a certain pride in your body, but others while choosing not to kill themselves still hoped for a restoration. Hiding away their bodies beneath smothering outfits. It was their choice, and you had to help clothe them too.
A few name changes, but the shop survived the changes. Your heart sank somewhat as a huddle of deniers entered the shop. Covered head to toe, in shapeless black. They were fully entitled to choose their own styles. You know the type, quiet, as they didn't like to hear their own treacherous voices, and their feminine pitch.
Their faces hidden as if they hoped to pull their headscarf aside, and see their restored features... however they looked: bearded, moustached, or just a firm jaw.
It would be a boring job for you, their choices never showed any flair or style. Their tolerant husband, when they had one, was absent, and you guessed unsatisfied.
Their eyes narrowing, as they take you in. Not exactly provocatively dressed, but embracing your new sex. The accusations of betrayal clear in their looks.
"How can I help?" you bustle over to help them. Carefully avoiding any titles: ladies, or ma'am. Being known to provoke an argument. You weren't about to says 'gentlemen' either!
Unfortunately, or not. In the lottery of the Great Switch, you'd ended up either blessed, or cursed. Your body impossible to hide, your curves were at the upper end of things.
"I'm Yvonne." you add. The deniers whisper between one another. You guess, it's underwear they're shopping for today.
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