Keeping up appearances is all well and good, but you have no intention of remaining stuck as an embarassingly buxom nerdette one minute longer than you must. Thus, you make your way unsteadily out of the bathroom and back out to the parking lot, determined to find the old Wizard and set things right. Your own keys seem to have disappeared along with your original body, so you are forced to take Penelope's boxy little Volvo instead of your own car. The advantage of this is that the mirrors and so forth are already properly adjusted for your new stature, but you soon discover that no amount of adjustment will make the seatbelt rest comfortably across Penelope's generous bosom. No matter how you turn it, it soon ends up painfully pinching your skin at one point or another. In the end, you simply leave it unbuckled, safety be damned.
When you finally arrive at the mall you are suddenly confronted by a much bigger problem—the magic shop isn't there. In its place stand a Pretzel Palace, employees hawking twisted dough as though nothing was wrong. Frustrated, you storm up to the counter.
"Where's the magic shop that used to be here?" you demand in Penelope's squeaky little voice.
The pimple-faced cashier looks taken aback.
"I… we just sell pretzels," he stammers. "I don't know anything about any magic shop…."
You slam your tiny fists down on the counter.
"Not now, moron, yesterday! Where's the shop that was here this weekend?"
"I… I don’t know what you're talking about. Pretzel Palace has been here for almost seven months now…."
"Bullshit!" you scream, grabbing at the black 'mind control' collar fastened around your neck. "I bought this yesterday, right here, from some geezer in a bathrobe! Where is he? Where is the man in the bathrobe?"
"Please, just calm down, Miss. I don't know any—"
"Don't call me 'miss!'" you screech, face flush with rage. "It was right here! Right where you're standing!"
"Maybe you should talk with my manager…."
"No, just forget it. Thanks for nothing, you worthless sack of—"
Just then, an elderly man comes out of the back of Pretzel Palace. He's wearing their trademark yellow and white uniforms and a tiny plastic badge that says "Manager," but there's no mistaking that wizened frown. It's the Wizard.
"You…" you start.
"Now, now, no need to cause such a ruckus. Perhaps we should speak in private."
With a wave of his hand, the old man brings the chaos of the Mall to a stop. Shoppers freeze in mid stride, trash hangs suspended in the air above bins and the Wizard smiles faintly.
"That's better," he says. "Now, I take it you're not entirely satisfied with your purchase?"
"Satisfied?" you demand. "Satisfied? Do I look satisfied?"
You heft Penelope's ample assets for emphasis.
"Well, now, I think you'll find that the merchandise I sold you works exactly as advertised, does it not? Or are you claiming that you have not, in fact, received control over what this young woman's actions? Because I think you will find the evidence suggest otherwise."
"You know full well this isn't what you implied would happen! You deliberately misled me, old man!"
The wizard frowns.
"Be careful where you throw those accusations, young lady."
"I am not a young lady!"
The wizard merely raises an eyebrow. You pause to take a deep breath.
"Besides," you continue, "what happened to Penelope? Where's my old body?"
"She's safe," says the wizard. "No thanks to your efforts. As for your old body, well—perhaps something can be arranged."
"What are you talking about?" you demand.
"When you first came to me, you had no concern for anyone but yourself. I imagine that's still largely the case, but your inquiry after the welfare of your young friend demonstrates there may yet be some small shred of decency within you. Therefore, I propose a bargain. A test, if you will. If you can salvage this situation, turning your possession into a positive development for your friend Penelope, I will remove the collar and restore your original body to you."
"So the collar can be removed?"
"By sufficiently powerful magic, yes. But I will do this for you only if you complete the task I have set forth.
"How am I supposed to do that?"
The old man waves his hand, within which a small, neatly bound white book appears.
"This is your friend Penelope's diary. In it she has recorded not only the events of her daily life, but her aspirations, both petty and tremendous. If you can use this opportunity to further those goals, helping her to achieve that which she could not herself, I will consider your end of the bargain fulfilled. "
"And If I refuse?"
"Then I suggest you get comfortable using the toilet sitting down."
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