It didn't look like a Valentine. It looked like a plain piece of pink cardboard until Lacy picked it up in her hands and turned it over looking for an address or some sort of flap to open. Then the thing started to vibrate in her hands like an electric current was going through it. Lacy threw it down and watched in stunned disbelief as the piece of cardboard flopped around on the carpet like a headless chicken and then sprouted two red wings and little red chicken feet. It took a few awkward steps then launched itself into the air and began to flap around her living room.
"Oh my God!" she said.
The flying cardboard stopped in front of her, right at eye level, and began to unfold in a way she didn't understand. She saw the interior of restaurant or nightclub, the size of a dollhouse but complete down to the tiny crystal water goblets on the tables and the minuscule red M's on the burgundy menus, and then the thing folded in on itself again, began to shoot clouds of glitter and steam, and in one startling puff of smoke, a man was standing there, fully human-sized, looking quite pleased with himself and a little amused.
"Oh my God!" Lacy said again. "Who are you?"
"I'm your cupid," he said. "I'm here to bring you your magic Valentine's Day gift!"
"You look like watchamacallit. That chicken guy."
"Colonel Harland Sanders," he said, patting his stomach complacently. "Yes I do. We've found that women are less upset when presented with a non-threatening image, and this one's always worked for me. Besides, I have a thing for chickens. I'm pretty lovable, though, wouldn't you say? You don't feel threatened in the least, do you?"
"No. No, I don't. But what are you doing here?"
The Colonel hooked his cane over his arm and adjusted his pince nez.
"It's magic, sweetie, pure and simple. Valentine's day is one our more magical holidays, you know, and I'm here to give you a very special Valentine's Day gift. Well, more or less."
He reached into his pink coat and brought out a little spiral pad. He leafed through the pages.
"Here we are. Lacy Ferraro. 29 years old. Dental hygienist. No boyfriend, lives alone. Poor self-image." He looked at her over the rims of his glasses. "That's you, right? A little bit of a chicken yourself, wouldn't you say?"
"Well, yes, that's me, but..." She tried to peek over the pad. "I don't know about that chicken part. Who told you that?"
He smiled smugly and put the pad away in his breast pocket.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" Lacy tried to assert herself. She didn't want to alarm him though. "What is this? Who are you and how'd you get in here?"
The Colonel cleared his throat and adjusted his pince nez again. He lowered his eyes and very carefully focused his gaze on her, and Lacy had the extraordinary sensation of something passing between them, some kind of information or knowledge, flowing out of him and into her. It was as if he'd suddenly given her an injection of knowledge, and without him so much as saying a word, she suddenly knew this was for real and that she was being given something great and magical.
It was an extraordinary feeling, but it only lasted a moment. And in the next moment she realized with that same kind of certainty that she was standing there wasting time.
She stood there dumbstruck, her mouth agape.
"See?" he asked.
"Oh my!" She looked around in confusion. "Well what should I do? I mean, how does it work? What do I have to do?"
"Well, in your case my dear, it's your self-image, as I've said. Let's talk about what you see when you look in the mirror: a short little girl, insignificant and not very attractive, plain and underdeveloped. Is that about right, would you say? Why don't we start with that? Go look in your mirror."
Lacy opened the door to the hall closet where she had a full-length mirror. There she was, just as she saw herself every day. She was much as he'd described, although he hadn't even mentioned her frumpy clothes.
"Now, why don't you imagine how you'd like to look and see what happens?"
Lacy turned to look at him and was about to ask him what he meant when her eyes caught a flicker of motion in the mirror, and she was suddenly aware of a dizzy sensation in her body. She looked at her reflection and saw that she was suddenly a good six inches taller than she should be.
"Oh my God!"
She looked back at herself in stunned silence. She was aware of all of her shortcomings, but it was her height that always bothered her most of all. She'd always been conscious of having to look up to people and of feeling their eyes on the top of her head. She always seemed to passing beneath their gaze. Now as she stood there, she felt her body stretch again.
"Well now don't overdo it, dear," the Colonel said. "At that height you won't be able to wear heels."
Immediately she shrank down a few inches, but she was still eight inches taller than she'd ever been. She looked around her with new perspective. It was wonderful. She felt queenly and regal, even statuesque.
"That's good," the Colonel said. "That looks just about right."
"I don't believe this!" Lacy stared at herself in the mirror. A stretched and astonished Lacy stared back.
"Now what about your face?"
"My face?" Her hands went to her cheeks in alarm. "But I like my face! It's a good face!"
The colonel smiled indulgently. "Yes, it is, Lacy. It's a very nice face, so let's not worry about that now. You can always change it later if you like. Now, your hair. How about this?"
The Colonel pointed his cane at the mirror, and at once her lank, mousy hair was replaced by an absurdly rich cataract of golden blonde curls, tumbling around her face and spilling over her shoulders.
"Oh no! No!" she moaned. "No, that's too much! I look like a country and western singer!"
The Colonel made a sour face. He evidently wasn't used to being second-guessed.
