You’ll never believe this, but I fell asleep as a 13-year-old girl in 2013 and woke up in the body of a 30-year-old woman in 2030. Besides growing boobs (score!), so much has changed.
I discovered that I live in a fabulous apartment in New York City. Much to my surprise, there was a hunky man in my shower! Turns out he was my state-sponsored male guardian who monitors women’s bodies for reproductive and aesthetic compliance. Apparently all women have mandatory male guardians in the year 2030. That’s sorta like having a boyfriend, right? Being a grown woman is the best!
I also found out I’m an editor at Poise, a woman’s fashion magazine that gives tips on how to look flirty, fabulous, and sympathetic to the Dear Father. Can you believe I have my own office?
And remember Tom-Tom, my high school nemesis and meanest member of The Six Chicks? Well, she works at Poise too and The Six Chicks are now government-trained enforcers of women’s Body Mass Index. If you’re not within the state-regulated BMI range, you get relocated to a body indoctrination camp (it’s like a fitness camp but with way more Bible verses.) Thank god I still have the metabolism of a 13 year old!
Between work and measuring my thigh gap, I barely have time for a social life. But I managed to go out with one hot guy. He was a little boring and followed all of Dear Father’s laws like “mandatory curfew at 9 pm” or “always talk to a woman through a screen.” When I suggested a game of 7 minutes in heaven, he took that to mean reading Dear Father’s scripture and praying for our holy union. Ugh, will I ever get kissed??
Now that I think of it, maybe being a grown up isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Like last night I went to a work party, and no one would do the “Thriller” dance with me. Maybe it’s because they were too shy. Or that men and women are restricted from commingling in public unless it’s to watch an execution. Or when I encouraged them to “Dance like no one’s watching” they knew I could not be further from the truth.
In good news, I managed to find my childhood friend Matty. He’s a photographer now but can’t find any work because the visual arts are punishable by death. It’s nice being with a guy who likes me for me and not my ovulation cycle, you know? I do worry about him getting stoned to death, though.
With all this change, I cope by singing and dancing to Pat Benatar songs in my room. I just have to be careful because women are forbidden from singing, dancing, meditating, lighting candles, taking baths, drinking iced coffee, drinking hot coffee, basically any act that alters their basal body temperature. I’m not even supposed to write in a diary so I’m just pretending to track my period.
You know, Diary, writing all this makes me realize how much I miss my parents, my childhood home, and wearing clothes that aren’t a long robe. Tonight I’m going to take my magic wishing dust and pray that I’ll wake up as a 13-year-old girl again. I can’t wait to be back home, with the freedom to walk around without a male guardian monitoring my step count.