Howard wasn’t what you’d call a “carnival person.” He came for the fried Oreos, maybe the bumper cars if he was feeling wild, but not the games. Still, when the ring toss attendant, a man with a curly mustache and suspiciously pointy shoes, called out, “One free toss!”, Howard thought, Why not?

He aimed lazily toward a corner bottle, fully expecting the ring to clatter uselessly on the ground like every other time in his life. Instead, the ring ricocheted off a bottle neck, pinged against the side rail, rolled in a perfect circle across the table, and plopped neatly around the center peg.

The peg that read: NEW BODY.

“Oh, congratulations!” the attendant sang, as if Howard had just won the lottery.

Howard blinked. “What do you mean, new body?”

The attendant whipped back a velvet curtain to reveal… well… a 57-year-old curvy woman’s body, standing on a pedestal, dressed in a white leotard and tights like some kind of middle-aged gymnast who’d lost her way.

Howard recoiled. “That’s not---uh---I mean, thank you, but no thanks.”

“Nonsense!” the attendant chirped. “You won! You have to try it out!”

And before Howard could argue, he was hustled behind the curtain, pressed against something that smelled faintly of rose lotion and menthol rub, and poof!---Howard was inside the new body. His old tall, skinny self slumped lifelessly against a wall like a forgotten marionette.

He looked down. His new hips stuck out like parentheses. His chest… well… let’s just say gravity was a serious consideration now.

“Okay,” Howard said, his new voice throaty and matronly, “I reject the prize.”