"Prom-blems: Dad-Daughter Swap Class Showdown"
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It started as an innocent enough day in Swap Class—a course designed to help high school students gain empathy by briefly swapping bodies with fellow classmates. My dad, Mr. Johnson, had been the seasoned teacher of this eccentric elective for a couple of years now. You'd think he'd have a handle on it, but alas, this semester threw a wrench into the Johnson family protocol.
The problem? This semester, there was an odd number of students. And of course, Murphy's Law swooped in. My dad ended up swapping bodies with Kimberly Stevens, the hottest girl in school. You know, the type that everyone has crushes on—including me.
"Ryan, I need to talk to you," Kimberly—uh, I mean my dad—said in an ever so slightly masculine tone. I almost spat out my cereal.
I could see the sincere dad-look in her (his?) eyes, which made this whole situation even more disturbing. "Dad, you look... um, different."
"Yes, well, swap class rules," Dad said, patting down the pink mini-skirt Kimberly had worn that day, barely covering his mid-thigh. I gulped. "Listen, I found out about your little crush on Kimberly."
My eyes widened. Of course, my dad was poking around in Kimberly's mind like an overzealous gardener. "What? Dad, come on, you can't tell her."
"Too late," he said, flipping his—oh God, her—hair out of his... face. Note to self: buy brain bleach. "But really, son, I think it's a perfect opportunity."
"Opportunity for what?" I asked hesitantly.
"For you to have a date with Kimberly!" My dad clapped his hands together, shaking his—I'm going to be sick—ample chest around. "I mean, me. I'll act like her, and we'll practice."
My breakfast immediately regretted its life decisions. "Dad, no. Dad, please."
"Don't be silly," he said, taking out some makeup. "We’ll make this as authentic as possible."
Fast-forward to 30 minutes later. My dad, still in Kimberly's body, had dolled himself up in a dangerously low-cut top that screamed “I'm a parental disaster” and not in a cool, rebellious way.
"So, Ryan, what do you like to do for fun?" Kimberly-dad was batting his eyes and twirling hair around fingers. The whole scene was something out of a psychological horror film directed by a comedian who'd lost their way.
"Dad, this isn’t..." I struggled to get the words out. "This isn't how dates work."
"Oh, come on, lighten up!" he chirped in a voice that was horrifyingly chipper. "So, I hear you like the new X-Men movie?"
Just kill me now. "Yeah... it's, uh, good."
"Well, maybe we could, you know, hold hands during the movie or something," he said, reaching for my hand on the table. “Kimberly” flashing a set of sparkly nails at me. It was like a runaway glitter factory.
"Okay, that's enough," I said, pulling my hand away faster than I could say "therapy fund.” "I can't do this. You're my dad!"
He pouted. Kimberly's lips should never form that expression. "Fine, you're not ready." He—or rather, she—stood up, smoothing out the skirt for about the hundredth time. "One step at a time. But Ryan, you've got to be proactive with your feelings!"
"Yeah, the only proactive thing I’m going to do is pro-actively not talk about this ever again."
Just then, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find the real Kimberly, in my dad's body, eyes wide with embarrassment and shyness.
"I'm... I'm sorry about... all this," she said. It was bizarre seeing my dad's stern, authoritative features look so sheepish.
"Yeah, well, it’s not your fault," I muttered, holding back a chuckle. At least this was an improvement.
"Let's just get through this semester, shall we?" she said, managing a smile that looked utterly out of place on my dad's face.
"Deal."
As they left to go teach the next class, my dad even winking back at me, I couldn't help but wonder—how could this get any worse?
Little did I know, prom was just around the corner, and of course, it was going to be a million times more awkward.
Why? Dad was planning to chaperone. In Kimberly's stunning, too-tight prom dress.
Kill. Me. Now.
This story was generated by user zach3 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: write a story with dialogue where Things can get very awkward when your dad is a swap class teacher. He’s been teaching the class for a couple years now. Usually there’s an even number of students but this year it was odd. He had to swap with one of the hottest girls in school this semester. So now he swapped bodies with Kimberly the hottest and bustiest girl in school. All semester she's going to be at my house acting like my dad. God this is awkward and even worse my dad somehow found out my crush on her so now he is going to try and have a fake date with me and try his best to act like her he even did her makeup and put on a nice outfit that showed a bit of cleavage. He has told her about my crush too. How could this get any worse.
Response: It started as an innocent enough day in Swap Class—a course designed to help high school students gain empathy by briefly swapping bodies with fellow classmates. My dad, Mr. Johnson, had been the seasoned teacher of this eccentric elective for a couple of years now. You'd think he'd have a handle on it, but alas, this semester threw a wrench into the Johnson family protocol. The problem? This semester, there was an odd number of students. And of course, Murphy's Law swooped in. My dad ended up swapping bodies with Kimberly Stevens, the hottest girl in school. You know, the type that everyone has crushes on—including me. "Ryan, I need to talk to you," Kimberly—uh, I mean my dad—said in an ever so slightly masculine tone. I almost spat out my cereal. I could see the sincere dad-look in her (his?) eyes, which made this whole situation even more disturbing. "Dad, you look... um, different." "Yes, well, swap class rules," Dad said, patting down the pink mini-skirt Kimberly had worn that day, barely covering his mid-thigh. I gulped. "Listen, I found out about your little crush on Kimberly." My eyes widened. Of course, my dad was poking around in Kimberly's mind like an overzealous gardener. "What? Dad, come on, you can't tell her." "Too late," he said, flipping his—oh God, her—hair out of his... face. Note to self: buy brain bleach. "But really, son, I think it's a perfect opportunity." "Opportunity for what?" I asked hesitantly. "For you to have a date with Kimberly!" My dad clapped his hands together, shaking his—I'm going to be sick—ample chest around. "I mean, me. I'll act like her, and we'll practice." My breakfast immediately regretted its life decisions. "Dad, no. Dad, please." "Don't be silly," he said, taking out some makeup. "We’ll make this as authentic as possible." Fast-forward to 30 minutes later. My dad, still in Kimberly's body, had dolled himself up in a dangerously low-cut top that screamed “I'm a parental disaster” and not in a cool, rebellious way. "So, Ryan, what do you like to do for fun?" Kimberly-dad was batting his eyes and twirling hair around fingers. The whole scene was something out of a psychological horror film directed by a comedian who'd lost their way. "Dad, this isn’t..." I struggled to get the words out. "This isn't how dates work." "Oh, come on, lighten up!" he chirped in a voice that was horrifyingly chipper. "So, I hear you like the new X-Men movie?" Just kill me now. "Yeah... it's, uh, good." "Well, maybe we could, you know, hold hands during the movie or something," he said, reaching for my hand on the table. “Kimberly” flashing a set of sparkly nails at me. It was like a runaway glitter factory. "Okay, that's enough," I said, pulling my hand away faster than I could say "therapy fund.” "I can't do this. You're my dad!" He pouted. Kimberly's lips should never form that expression. "Fine, you're not ready." He—or rather, she—stood up, smoothing out the skirt for about the hundredth time. "One step at a time. But Ryan, you've got to be proactive with your feelings!" "Yeah, the only proactive thing I’m going to do is pro-actively not talk about this ever again." Just then, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find the real Kimberly, in my dad's body, eyes wide with embarrassment and shyness. "I'm... I'm sorry about... all this," she said. It was bizarre seeing my dad's stern, authoritative features look so sheepish. "Yeah, well, it’s not your fault," I muttered, holding back a chuckle. At least this was an improvement. "Let's just get through this semester, shall we?" she said, managing a smile that looked utterly out of place on my dad's face. "Deal." As they left to go teach the next class, my dad even winking back at me, I couldn't help but wonder—how could this get any worse? Little did I know, prom was just around the corner, and of course, it was going to be a million times more awkward. Why? Dad was planning to chaperone. In Kimberly's stunning, too-tight prom dress. Kill. Me. Now.
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