A sign indicates to me that I can undergo species reassignment for the day. I ask the lady to be sure this stupendous sign is legitimate, she informs me that she can indeed transform me into an owl in exchange for 200 English pennies. My smile is reminiscent of barbies. I spend my day with a dog and a butterfly exploring a forest of possibilities. I am becoming increasingly aware that I cannot fly. I wonder when I will have to make the horrific transformation back into fleshy thighs and phalanges.
I find myself working under the command of Maggie Thatcher, she takes me into the office for a round of “how dare you”. I show her my teeth, a sense of nimiety growing inside me. She is not a fictitious character in my world like you may suspect, she is real and she is ruining my work ethic.