"Time to get up, dear," Tilda melodiously chirped to her husband Arlen, who was stomach-down on the bed with his face buried in his pillow. The timbre of her voice made Arlen smile. "Sounds like she already forgot our blow-up last night. Imagine her calling me lazy for refusing to get a job, making her to work days clerking in that department store, then to come home and cook me dinner, clean house and do the laundry," he thought.

"And I got what you asked me for," Tilda happily added. "Ah, that would be new underwear. I yelled at her last night that my old underwear had developed holes. And she had the nerve to say I expected her to do everything for me ­ that she might be better off with a real child at home than a husband who acted like one. Sounds like she wants my forgiveness," he said.

So Arlen sat up in bed and saw Tilda standing exactly as in the above photo. "Those underpants are small enough for a toddler," he grumbled. Then Arlen looked under the blanket and saw his body had youthened. If anything, those boys' underpants might be a bit too large on him. "How'd this happen?" Arlen puzzled. Tilda didn't say; she just smiled.

Then Arlen swallowed hard. "I hope Tilda doesn't remember last night, threatening to put me in daycare so I wouldn't dirty the house while she worked. I hate being around kids!" he silently whined.



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