One fine Saturday, Michael woke up gay.
He rubbed his eyes and sat up. This place is a drag, he thought, surveying the heap he'd been calling home for the past year. Where did he think he was? The YMCA? With a wave of his hand, he transformed the cracked plaster on the walls into Laura Ashley wallpaper. Much better. Now for the rest of the place.
Michael got out of bed and moved around the small space, running his hands over everything he saw. The bare ceiling bulb became track lighting. The linoleum floor was transformed into hardwood. Satin sheets covered the bed. The kitchen became something Martha Stewart would be proud of.
He looked around, feeling delighted with himself. You know, I should put that professional-grade stove to good use. Maybe I'll make some quiche for breakfast, he thought, rubbing his hands together in gleeful anticipation. But he'd need some fresh ingredients, and for that, he'd have to go down to the farmer's market in town.
Michael jumped in the shower (after adjusting the shower curtain and towels so they color-coordinated) and made a mental note to get some bodywash -- plain Ivory soap was so boring. After drying off and getting dressed, he checked out his reflection in the newly gilded mirror. Not bad. But he needed a haircut. He should check out that new hairstylist soon. The clothes were looking fine, though, Michael thought, noting his snug jeans and pink shirt. He grabbed a handwoven wicker basket, and headed out.
As he walked along on his way to the market, he couldn't help noticing what a fabulous day it was. The outdoor market was bustling with vendors, and Michael found himself enjoying his shopping experience. He took his time finding the things he wanted -- black truffles, farm-fresh eggs, fruit, baby carrots, and other assorted goodies. And then he spotted someone he knew.
"Isabel!" he called, bounding over to her and giving her an enthusiastic hug. "So good to see you here!"
"Michael? What are you doing here?" Isabel said dourly.
"Oh, you know me," he replied with a huge grin. "I love to cook. Just getting some ingredients for my quiche."
"Quiche?" Isabel frowned. "Michael, what's with you today?"
"Me? Nothing." He grinned at her. "I'm just enjoying the lovely day."
"Riiighhhtt..." Isabel crossed her arms. "How anyone can be so cheerful first thing in the morning is beyond me. Mornings suck. Really, Michael, are you sure you didn't get knocked unconscious by an evil alien? They're everywhere, you know."
"Nope. But I did have a great dream while I was sleeping last night."
Isabel sighed. "Don't tell me it was another one of those lets-make- love-on- the-edge- of-a- cliff-where- we-could- fall-off dreams."
"Nope." He winked. Actually, she was partly right. Alex had looked mighty fine in those original dreams, and last night Alex had come invading Michael's dreams again -- under entirely different circumstances.
She sighed again. "And what's with the pink shirt?"
"This?" He glanced down. "This is haute couture, I'll have you know. All the rage on the Paris runways this year." Michael looked at her. "You know, if you really wanted to keep current, you should wear shirts like this." He passed his hand over Isabel's top, transforming it into a sheer lavender number.
Iz harumphed. She waved her own hand and Michael's shirt was suddenly boring navy blue. He grinned and waved his hand again -- her jeans became a black leather skirt. She turned his penny loafers back into sneakers.
Finally, Iz had had enough. "Michael, whatever you drank last night, don't do it again. I'll meet up with you, Tess, and Max later, so we can talk about Destiny ad nauseum." And with that, she stomped off.
As soon as she was gone, Michael passed his hand over his clothing one last time, restoring his original outfit. He finished his shopping, but as he was walking home, he decided to make a detour. Couldn't let all this luscious food go to waste. Perhaps Sheriff Valenti would like some fruit.
He pushed his way past the entrance until he came to the Sheriff's inner sanctum. "And a bright and beautiful good morning to you, sir." Michael said with a wide smile.
Valenti looked up from his desk, where he'd been hard at work. "Michael. What can I do for you?"
"Oh, I was in the neighborhood, and thought you might like some of this fruit here. Sort of a thank-you for all the times you've covered my ass lately. If it wasn't for you, I'd have gotten the shaft a long time ago."
"Thank you, Michael. That's mighty thoughtful of you," Valenti responded, a little uncertainly. But he accepted the gift.
"No problem." Michael smiled again. "And, might I add, you're looking particularly fine this morning. That blue denim shirt really brings out your eyes."
"Er... thank you again," Valenti stammered.
Just then there was a tap at the open doorway. "Sheriff?" It was Isabel.
Valenti stood up quickly, glad to have someone else to focus his attention on. "Yes, Miss Evans?"
"I'd like to report a crime."
"Right here." Isabel pointed at Michael's pink shirt. "That outfit is positively criminal. I don't know what's the matter with Michael, but he certainly isn't himself this morning."
"Hadn't you noticed? I mean, it's so obvious."
"Oh, well, I suppose so." Valenti glanced at the seated boy. "I appreciate your concern, Miss Evans, but this is the police. Not the fashion police. So if that's your only reason for being here, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave. I've got some business to take care of."
Isabel flounced out.
"I'm sorry about that, Michael," Valenti said, turning back to his guest.
"It's ok, Sheriff. Besides, I know I've got good taste -- she's still wearing the outfit I 'gave' her this morning."
"Yes, yes you do have good taste." Valenti's eyes strayed to ripe bananas in the fruit basket. "You know, Michael," he added softly. "If you wanted, I could show you some of the things I do as Sheriff. That way you wouldn't always need me if you got into a sticky situation."
Michael smiled even brighter. "I'd like that. A lot."
"All right then. How about we start with frisking? And then later you can come for a ride in my patrol truck..."