It was a snowy December 1st when Claude heard a knock on his apartment door. The 26-year-old doctor rose from his chair and went to see who it could be at 10:30 at night. Opening the door he found nothing but a simple white box waiting on the floor with a card addressed to him attached. Picking it up he brought it inside and placed it on his coffee table.
Upon inspection it looked like a regular white box that one would receive a shirt in as a gift. It was rectangular and thin, but otherwise it was completely unremarkable. Upon opening it he found nestled among the tissue paper a pair of white women’s gloves. “What the heck?” he asked the empty apartment as he picked them up to inspect them. Claude could tell they were cotton, but they felt like the smoothest of silk between his fingers. They had a little bit of stretch to them as he pulled on them to test their durability. But it was the absolute prissiness of the white that made him sit up and take notice. “I wonder where these came from?”
Claude through them back in the box and moved back to his chair to continue reading the medical article he had earmarked. But try as he might, he could not get thoughts of trying the gloves on from his mind. He wrestled with putting them on for more than a half hour, not wanting to wear any articles of women’s clothing, but finally decided, “Aw, who would know?”
Claude gingerly pulled the gloves over first his left hand then his right, and as soon as his fingers let go of the right glove it started. His hands sprung to life with a mind of their own, and with what seemed to be a practiced pattern of signing, his clothes started to transform form the ground up. His shoes became dark black, pointed toe, 5-inch heels. His pants contorted into black stockings with a line up the back of each leg, his shirt becoming a long, red, strapless evening gown with a slit up the right side that came to his upper thigh, and with white short fur trim at the top of the gown. His view became obscured slightly as a red panama hat with white trim came into being on his head.
And as freaked out as he was about his clothes, it was nothing to how he screamed when his body changed into a curvaceous women’s, with long legs, a big apple shaped bottom, and a large chest. a quick glance into his mirror mounted above the couch showed that he his face had become unspeakably beautiful, and his hair long shiny and silver, styled into a pony tail worn over his right shoulder. “Oh my God!” he screamed.
Claude pulled his right glove off, only to find another one underneath. He tried to rip that one off only to find a third. But his desperation was so great, that he kept trying over and over, and did not stop until he looked to find a pile of forty right-handed gloves piled up on the floor next to him. And as he looked they faded into sparkling dust that blew away on a wind that came from nowhere. “I’m trapped! I’m trapped with these gloves on, in this ridiculous outfit and body,” he cried, but much to his shock, not one bit of his magically applied make up ran underneath his tears. “What’s happened to me?”
Claude watched as his left hand performed an elaborate set of maneuvers to magically produce a business card with some words embossed on them; “You’ve become Mrs. Claus! And it’s time for a Christmas miracle!”
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