Chapter 15 - Can that be said about tall, skinny, musically inclined boys? I don’t think so.

Taylor

Tonight was finally the big night. Tonight was the glorious, magnificent night that Taylor Hanson would finally be able to take out the sex goddess of his dreams on an actual real date, no fantasizing required. I can picture her now: long legs pouring out of a tight black skirt and glistening blonde hair hanging to her back, just begging to be tousled.

I have never wanted to cry so hard in my entire life. And I don’t mean just shedding a tear here and there. No, I mean that I want nothing more than to fall to the floor and flail my arms about and wail like a baby.

I think I have personally taken this body-switching ordeal rather well. Of course, Abby already took the hysterical/dramatic/my-life-as-I-know-it-is-over approach to dealing, so the calm, normal role was sort of forced on me. And maybe I should be reacting more like Abby. Maybe completely wigging out from this unexplainable phenomenon is the healthy reaction. But to be perfectly honest, and I know this might sound quite insane, I’m really not all that unhappy about it.

Okay, being a girl has its rough spots. Bleeding is no fun, nor are the cramps/bloating/irritability that tags along with it. I would also like to comment that the scratchy material the uniform skirt is made out of is comparable to sandpaper. But there are so many ways that this temporary situation really isn’t so bad. Let’s take gym class and sleepovers for example. Hello, they’re a teenage boy’s heaven on earth! Girls are more understanding and sensitive to be around, too. It’s also a perk that as a girl no one notices when I’m aroused. You get treated differently as a female, where even the jerkiest of guys tend to leave the girls alone. Can that be said about tall, skinny, musically inclined boys? I don’t think so.

Another positive aspect is that Brooke Thompson speaks to me. As a boy she saw me as a leper, but as a girl I’m seen as a friend. She laughs at my stupid jokes and we talk about our (well, some) issues. As Abby, she’s honest and completely open with me because she doesn’t feel like she has to constantly protect herself from some salivating man-beast. And the real her is amazing.

The final, and probably most freeing, benefit of our swap is the simple fact that I’m not me. I’m not Taylor Hanson, ex-rockstar. I’m not Taylor Hanson, the anti-social. I feel as though I’m strangely freer to be who I really am without fear because there are no prejudgments for or against me. People like to assume what I’m like and how I act before they even meet me.

For example, before the Albertane tour, it somehow leaked out through Internet/magazines/unauthorized books that my favorite color is red. Before a show on that tour there was a group of girls who’d won a contest to meet us. Each and every one of them wore a shirt of some variation of red except for one girl, who wore pastel blue. I purposely spoke to her the most and gave her one of my necklaces (oh, you should have heard the shrieks of jealousy!) just to prove how tacky I found the red patrol to be. And maybe that was the wrong way to take the intent of the girls in red. They clearly had no intention to piss me off. They probably wanted to flatter me. However, I just can’t see why people would want to change themselves just to please someone else. I find that incredibly annoying when girls try to act how they think I want them to. I find it insulting to me and degrading to them.

But now I must focus on the task at hand. I was going out on a date, sort of, and I needed to look presentable. Now, I’ve gone out on my share of first dates but I’ve never really paid attention to what girls wore exactly. Normally I was more concerned that I looked good.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I saw a mousy-haired girl in shorts staring back at me. Her hair was stringy, her eyes looked a little baggy, and there was probably a forest of hair thriving on her legs. I frowned. There was only one possible solution to this dilemma.

Contrary to popular belief, I have never shaved my legs before. Hell, I only just recently started shaving my face. I walked into the bathroom with a disgustingly pink shaver in my hand. If I could shave my face without losing too much blood, shaving my legs would be a walk in the park.

I hummed to a random Coldplay song that resonated in my head as I ran some water. I looked around the bathroom and grinned as my eyes laid on some Mr. Bubble. Maybe bath time wouldn’t be so bad after all. I’ve had some good times with Mr. Bubble in my youth.

After dumping half the bottle under the running faucet, I giggled (yes, giggled) as the tub filled with smooth bubbles. I stopped the water just before it was about to barrel out over the side of the tub.

It was only when I hopped in and the water overflowed all over the floor that I realized that I shouldn’t have filled it so high. And, that I’m an idiot.

After mopping up the water on the floor with fluffy towels, I returned to the tub to find the water a disappointing lukewarm. Nonetheless, the water was relaxing and just what I needed to unwind. I held my breath as I slipped underwater and just allowed myself to remain fully submerged within the bathtub.

But now was not the time to play in the bathtub. I had a…date tonight that I suppose I had to look somewhat respectable for. Now what did girls wear on first dates? I could look back on my own personal experience but I’m not sure how much good that would do me.

My very first date was actually with a fan. I know, if that ever leaked out the crazy fans would never give me a moment’s peace, but unfortunately it’s the truth. Her name was Lisa, she was a tall blonde, and I remember wondering how her mother ever allowed her to walk out of the house. I was fourteen and I never expected to have my first date with a girl who resembled Jenna Jameson. Her hair was all wild and curly, She had a pound of makeup on her face, and a dress that looked as though it could fit on my six year old sister.

I sighed as I recalled another first date I went on when I was about sixteen. Her name was Bernadine and my mother arranged the little date because she knew Bernie from church. Bernie wasn’t a bad looking girl and I didn’t have any plans so I accepted haphazardly. She came in, no joke, with overalls and a Minnie Mouse t-shirt underneath. Supposedly her father made her change her clothes nine times until she finally came down in that outfit as a joke. She CLAIMS he made her wear it. I still haven’t decided whether or not to believe her.

Of course, I could always dress like the one date Ike got me with his credit card on my fifteenth birthday…

Ahem, perhaps I should simply look through Abby’s closet and see what looks nice. I know that I always prefer my dates to wear skirts or dresses, so I guess I’ll see if she has any of those.

I looked down at myself and made a face. There was enough hair on my legs to shave off and use as a toupee. I winced as I slowly went up my leg. It was as if I was petting a cactus.

I picked up the razor sitting on the side of the tub and inspected it for a moment. It was thin and plastic, but it didn’t seem too threatening. At home I used an electric razor, one of those really nice ones that are for sensitive skin. Hey, I’m a sensitive kind of guy.

I looked around and frowned when I noticed there was no shaving cream sitting nearby. Um, what else would she shave with? Who doesn’t have any shaving cream in the bathroom? What kind of backward environment am I living in?

I glanced up and reached for the soap sitting casually above me. I suppose that would have to do. I ran the bar up and down my legs, making a soapy lather. Feeling eerily too feminine, I began to gently bring the razor up my leg. It left a thin trail of smooth, bare skin behind it and I couldn’t help but think I was the master of all the universe for accomplishing such a feat.

“I can shave, I can shave, I can shave,” I sang, bopping my head from side to side. I honestly don’t know why girls complain about shaving their legs all the time. Not only is it much easier than easing around the contours of a face but it’s kind of fun. “OW!” I dropped the razor and bit my lip as a little bit of blood oozed into the bathwater. “Fucking sharp blade…”

I let out a whimper as I continued shaving, this time more carefully. The next trip up the leg went incident-free, thank you very much. As I finished one leg and embarked on the other, I noticed how the original gratification of shaving my legs had quickly dissipated. Now it was more like a tedious chore. A tedious chore that required band-aids within reaching distance.

With a towel wrapped around me, I padded back into my bedroom and took a gander at Abby’s clothes. Now that I’ve looked closely, I noticed she didn’t have that many to choose from, and a lot looked like she’d had them for years. It kind of surprised me to see such little selection, despite Abby’s claim she was poor, because the rest of the house neglected to show her true financial status. This was one of the few clues that really went along with it.

I began mindlessly picking through some of the stuff that was hanging in her closet. She had a faded jean jacket that I absolutely fell in love with the moment I saw it. I tried it on and looked at myself in the mirror, putting on my best rockstar face. Oh yeah, I was definitely going to find a way to keep this.

Setting the jacket down, I returned to the closet and raised an eyebrow as I pulled out a khaki shirt that ended about three inches above her knees. That would do nicely. Sexy but not trashy. I grinned. I wouldn’t want my date to think I was easy or anything.

After finding a plain white blouse, I decided that my outfit was retro-spectacular. It was plain, traditional, but flattering to my hips and legs. Since my date wasn’t really that tall, I decided against any form of heels and headed straight for the tan flip-flops. Shoes are an essential accessory that can make or break an outfit, so I couldn’t make the decision without vast consideration. Too few women truly understand this imperative concept!

“Goodness, I almost forgot to put on my face!” I exclaimed, taking a good look at myself in the mirror. I’d never put on make up before but it didn’t look like it was that tough. Girls did it everyday. How bad could it be?

I grinned excitedly as I fished through Abby’s cosmetic bag. There were probably a million different things shoved in there from tweezers to cotton candy chapstick. I continued to search through the bag and pulled out some foundation, some powder, eye shadow, eyeliner, and lipstick.

“Silly me forgetting mascara,” I exclaimed to myself. Taking my goodies with me, I bounced over to the full-length mirror and plopped myself down in front of it. I took the foundation and squeezed some on my index finger. I applied a touch here, a touch there, and then rubbed it in carefully so that there were no obnoxious lines. Taking the powder, I patted some all over my face and quick made sure everything was rubbed in. Being satisfied with my work thus far, I took the black pencil and carefully drew a line along the top of my eyelid and underneath my eye. It took a few tries to make it perfectly even, but I eventually got the hang of it. Looking at the array of colors she had of eye shadow, I opted for a soft golden tinted one to accent the brown of my eyes and the khaki skirt. With slight hesitation, I ruefully reached for the mascara. I was never really a big fan of objects being too close to my eyeballs but I had to remember that I wasn’t doing this for me. I was doing this for the sake of fashion.

I applied some lipstick and stepped back so I could admire the finished product. After picking the mother of all wedgies, I decided I didn’t look half bad. In fact, I looked rather hot. I must say that I do know how to doll myself up.

***

I rang the doorbell to my real house and waited impatiently as someone took their time getting to the door. Usually my siblings raced down the stairs and nearly killed one another to answer the door first but tonight just was not the case. They must have known I was feeling rather anxious about tonight and thought it fun to delay my suffering.

My father opened the door and I forced myself not to hug the man. I missed him and the rest of my family more than I wanted to admit and it killed me that I couldn’t be with them. It hurt to look into my father’s eyes and not have him recognize me as his son.

“You must be Abby,” Dad began, smiling softly. I fondly noticed how his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Please come in. I think the guys mentioned that you could go right upstairs to their room.”

I nodded and smiled before slowly making my way upstairs. I knocked on the door with a heavy sigh. I missed home.

Abby opened the door quickly and I contemplated suicide just looking at her. She noticed my appalled expression and narrowed her eyes irritably at me.

“What is your problem?” She barked, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

I could only stare at her in complete horror. Please tell me that the man standing in front of me wasn’t really me. Please tell me that this is all a dream and I’m going to wake up very soon. Please tell me I am incapable of looking like Mr. Rogers.

“What. Have. You. Done. To. Me?” Oh, where has all the oxygen gone?

Abby rolled her eyes at my dramatics. “What the hell are you raving about now?”

I could weep for days. “Who dressed you? Sunday school?”

Abby looked down at herself. “What? I look good for once.”

I pushed Abby back into my room and shut the door behind us. I cringed as I took in her appalling attire. “Do you realize that I have a once in a lifetime shot at dating Brooke Thompson and you have me wearing a sweatervest? You have me in a fucking SWEATERVEST!”

Abby stared at me dumbly. “Um, I have you in nice khakis and a white shirt too…”

I slapped my forehead with the palm of my hand. Can this girl be serious? Can she have absolutely no sense whatsoever? What is WRONG with the women of today?

I muttered bitterly to myself as I charged toward my enormous closet. I frantically rampaged my closet, tearing through it until I found something suitable for Abby to wear. I would sooner shove my penis in a toaster before I’d actually allow her to walk out of the house looking like that.

“I think you’re being a little dramatic about this,” she commented, not bothering to hide her boredom. “I look fine. It’s you who looks like you’ve just fallen into the Gap.”

I turned to face her to reply but could only shake my head feverously. “Hello! Look at yourself! You have me one step away from wearing a pocket protector! We do not have time for your stupidity, Abby. I have a date with Brooke in…” I glanced at the alarm clock near the bed. “Thirty minutes! SHIT!” I threw some clothes at her. “Put these on now.”

“What is this? Taylor eye for the straight girl? Give me a break!”

“If there was less talking and more dressing the world would be a better place. Please stop talking and just put these on!” I grinned as I found the final touch to my soon to be perfect ensemble.

She grumbled angrily as a heavy suede jacket nailed her straight in the head. Without too much cursing, she did what I asked her to and put on the preferred attire. Within moments, she’d transformed from Clay Aiken to Brad Pitt.

Her face scrunched up as she checked herself out in the mirror. “I look gay.”

“Don’t start with me!” I warned. I stood next to her and peered into the mirror. “You look fabulous. Now, we just need to make sure your breath is minty and we need to make a slight adjustment on your hair and then we’re all set!”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” She asked, defensively. She reached up and touched her hair gingerly. “I actually tried to style it!”

I patted her on the head like a good dog. “That’s cute. However, I will now teach you the tried and true method of getting great hair. Watch carefully, okay?” Abby nodded obediently. I could tell she was on pins and needles. I mean, frankly, who wouldn’t be?

I carefully bent over and stuck my hands in my hair carefully. Abby slowly bent over and mimicked me. I nodded and then started rubbing my hands through my hair rapidly, then shook my head a few times, stood up straight, and then combed my fingers once through it.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

I shook my head as I smoothed out my brown hair. It didn’t have quite the same result. “I’m dead serious. Just do it, will you?”

Abby sighed and ruefully did as she was told. When she stood up she rolled her eyes at me as she finger combed her hair once. I pointed to the mirror and she gasped. She walked closer and shook her head.

“Well, wouldn’t you know,” she muttered, irritated. “Only you would come up with something so ludicrous yet perfect. I hate it when you’re right.” I grinned triumphantly. “Hey, did Mom do your makeup? It looks incredible!”

I shrugged humbly. “Nope, I did it. I just kind of threw it on and it turned out okay thankfully.”

Abby stared at me, holding her hand in front of her mouth to try to hide her laughter. “Taylor Hanson, you are the gayest straight man I’ve ever met! Hell, I can’t put on makeup like that and I’ve been doing it for years!”

I urged myself to remain calm. Just because I have a natural flair for knowing how to look good does not make me any less masculine than, say, Brett Favre. People think that spandex-wearing, rump-smacking pansy is the man simply because he throws a pigskin around once a week. I possess a truly artistic quality and what do people honestly think? They immediately think I’m packing the fudge.

After I forced her to brush her teeth twice, we determined that we were both ready to go. She put on the suede jacket and checked herself out in the mirror, making sure her hair was still intact. I then made sure no food or gross substance was stuck in between my teeth. We were all set.

“Okay,” Abby began, as we left my room. “Do you want to pick up your date before we pick up Brooke or would you prefer to get Brooke first?”

“Oh, we don’t need to pick up my date…”

Abby raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is he driving himself here then?”

I shook my head. “Nope. He sort of lives here.”

“LIVES HERE?!?”

As if on cue, Zac bounded up the stairs and headed towards us. He grinned, noticing an enraged look on Abby’s face. He approached us and put an arm around each of us.

Abby glared at Zac with tremendous hostility. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were Taylor’s date? Hmm? How come you didn’t get ready in the bedroom where I could easily put two and two together and realize that YOU were the idiot Taylor was dragging out?”

Zac shrugged. “Because I like to see you suffer? Haha, I’m kidding. Actually, I’ve been ready for a couple of hours now. I’ve been in the family room watching cartoons. And besides, I figured you and Taylor already discussed that I would be his date. It’s not like I jumped at the opportunity to go out on a date with my brother.”

Abby rubbed her temples firmly. “Taylor, I thought we decided that this would be a double-date and therefore we would both be suffering equally. I had no idea you were planning to cop out on me like the spineless wuss you are and take your freaking brother!” She stomped her foot and glared at me. “You could have at least had the decency to take the brother who DOESN’T know who you really are out tonight. But no, you had to make everything easy as pie for yourself didn’t you?”

There are many times when I don’t understand this girl. Now can be counted as one of them.

“Abby, why the hell would you want me to take someone who doesn’t know who I am?” I asked, scratching my head. “Does it make sense to you that I bring a guy who’ll want to kiss me and, ugh, touch me? How am I supposed to help you with your date when I’m struggling to control mine?”

Abby snorted. “So, you’re saying you’re doing this for me?”

“Of course not. I’m doing this for me,” I insisted, waving my hand at her. “I know you all too well Abby and to ensure that Brooke will actually want to date Taylor again I’m going to have to somehow fool her into thinking you’re somewhat charming and at least a hair likeable.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you saying I’m not likeable?”

“Did I mention how nice you look tonight?” I offered, smiling sweetly. She scowled at me as I led the way downstairs and the two of them followed after me. After smiling brightly at my parents while they instructed Zac and Abby to behave like gentlemen (Earning them a snort from Zac and a heavy sigh from Abby), we finally hopped into my black Explorer.

I looked over to my right and noticed Zac staring intently at me. We were resting in the backseat as Abby was driving us to Brooke’s house. The look he was giving me frightened me somewhat, since I had no idea what exactly was going on in that troubled mind of his.

“What are you staring at me for?” I asked, causing Abby to look back at us in her rearview mirror.

Zac shrugged, smiling slightly. “I was just thinking that you could have worn something a little more revealing, don’t you think? I mean, we’re on a first date and you look like you’ve dressed for church.” I don’t think I could have glared at him any harder than I was at this moment. “You could have at least worn a pair of those black hooker boots and a short skirt.”

“Pervert!” Abby exclaimed.

I narrowed my eyes at my insufferable younger brother. “You are sick, you know that? Just because I might not look like your older brother doesn’t mean I won’t be able to kick your short ass!”

Zac burst out laughing. “Oh, lay off. I’m just kidding.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Yeah, you better be.” I eyed him carefully. “It’s not like you got dressed up for me or anything! Look at you, jeans and a t-shirt! Could you possibly be more lazy?”

“I could,” Zac argued. “I was going to go out in only my boxers…”

“Would you two freaks of nature please shut the hell up?” Abby barked, causing the car to swerve wildly. She composed herself as my life threatened to flash before my very eyes. “None of us want to be on this double-date. Can we please make this as painless as possible by enjoying the sweet silence?”

“Only if you promise not to kill us,” Zac muttered.

“DON’T MAKE ME TURN THIS EXPLORER AROUND!”

“Zac, shut up!” I insisted, wishing I had thrown some Ibuprofen into my purse before I left. It was weird to actually have a purse on my shoulder and I prayed that I wouldn’t be an idiot and leave it somewhere. “Look, this date means a lot to me and I would greatly appreciate it if you two could suck it up and pretend you can get along.”

Zac snickered. “What? Are you planning on getting some after this date?”

Abby’s nostrils flared and once again the car swerved violently. “LIKE HELL!”

I sighed. I hate being constantly surrounded by comedians and drama queens. “Zac, you just don’t get it. This might be my one chance with Brooke Thompson! She might really like me after this and when I get back into my body who knows what could happen because of it?”

Zac sat back and silently stared out the window as Abby continued to stare forward at the road. The car ride continued on in silence until they finally pulled into Brooke’s long driveway. Abby stopped the car and looked back at me.

“You can do this,” I encouraged, as Zac just looked amused.

“I am Taylor Hanson, aren’t I?” She replied, her nervousness more than apparent. She took off her seat belt and got out of the car. Taking a deep breath, she looked back at me one more time.

“Well,” I began, letting out a long sigh. “Here goes nothing.”

Tonight was going to be perfect, damn it, come hell or high water.