"The Parental Role Reversal: A Birthday Trip to Remember"

We hadn’t even left the driveway, and I was already regretting my life choices.

“Dad,” my son’s voice called out, still eerily familiar even though it was coming from a body most definitely not his own. “Do you think we can stop at the liquor store on the way?”

I glared over at him—or rather, at my wife, who was now, perplexingly, technically my son. Thanks to a bizarre lab experiment gone awry, our planned father-son trip to the coast for his 21st birthday was now an adventure I wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

“Jake, you can’t be serious,” I said, shaking my head. “You look like your mother. What do you think people will say?”

He—or she—laughed, her voice triggering cognitive dissonance. “Exactly, Dad! I look like Mom. And as Mom, I can get us some free stuff.” She gave me a mischievous grin, the kind a 21-year-old college kid would give, not a mature woman in her 40s.

“Do you really think we should be celebrating your birthday like this?” I asked as I started the car.

Jake—or Janet, whatever—waved her hand dismissively. “Relax, Dad. It’s fine! I mean, I had the experiment documented, so we can always reverse it once I get back to the lab.”

I sighed, unsure whether to laugh or to cry. This was definitely shaping up to be a strange trip. “Alright, but you’re paying for any food you scam using your... assets.” I eyed him, or her, as he adjusted what I’d prefer not to call ‘his’ shirt.

Inside the liquor store, Jake was in full-form quirkiness. “Dad,” he said, a bottle of expensive wine in hand, “Do you think Mom would like this one for our anniversary?”

The clerk behind the counter eyed us suspiciously; I couldn’t blame him. “Sweetie,” Jake continued, giving the clerk a sly smile I was definitely not used to seeing on my wife’s face, “Do you think we could get a discount? Maybe a birthday special?”

The clerk blushed, glancing at me like I should intervene, but instead of starting a scene, I spoke up. “Yes, how much for the bubbly?”

Stumbling back to the car with a handful of free bottles, I chuckled despite myself. Jake had managed to work his magic—no, his mother’s—flawlessly.

The drive to the coast was just as peculiar. “Dad,” he said in a high-pitched sing-song, leaning out of the window as we passed a group of young men. “Hey, boys!”

“Stop that!” I hissed, trying to pull him back into the car.

“What? Lighten up, old man,” Jake said, flicking a delicate finger through his—or rather, her—red hair. “Turn on the radio; let’s jam!”

Once at the coast, though, things got even weirder. We checked into our hotel, and the desk clerk winked at Jake, who winked back, and got us a room upgrade. Jake turned to me, clearly proud.

“See, Dad? Told ya this would work!”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I replied, shaking my head as we headed to our room.

Later that evening, as we sat on the balcony watching the sunset, Jake gave me a sideways glance. “Dad, you know this has all been kind of fun, but… I miss my own body.” He tried to sip his drink but ended up almost choking. “And don’t even get me started on the anatomical difficulties.”

I laughed, perhaps for the first genuine time since this fiasco started. “Yeah, Jake, I bet you do.”

Jake leaned back, giggling. “But come on, you have to admit, this has been the strangest, most exciting trip ever.”

I nodded, “And next year, we celebrate your birthday with you back in your own body.”

“To next year,” Jake responded, lifting his glass.

“To next year,” I echoed, clinking glasses with my son—in whatever form he might be in.

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.

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