Borrowed Body at Work

I used to strut through the office like I owned the place. Technically, I did. CEO. Corner office. Executive parking. And if one of the interns got uncomfortable with a comment or a lingering stare? Not my problem.

Then came her.

Emily, the receptionist — always smiling, always polite. But yesterday, she gave me a strange look when I made another “joke” in front of the team. Said I should “walk a mile in her heels.” I laughed.

This morning… I woke up in her body.

No joke.

Blouse buttoned tight, skirt hugging curves I never had before, heels that feel like medieval torture, and a dozen eyes watching me the second I step off the elevator. I know those looks. I used to give them.

Now I can’t walk across the lobby without someone calling me “sweetheart,” or pretending not to stare at my legs.

And guess what?

Emily’s sitting pretty in my office. She winked at me and said,

“Just for a week. Learn something.”

Lesson. Very much. In progress.