Everett from Chicago grew up listening to the music of the Beach Boys, although he’d never seen the ocean himself. When he’d inadvertently offended a witch, she’d cursed him with something that actually wasn’t really a curse at all.
“The Mid-West farmer’s daughters really make you feel alright,” Everett sang, enjoying the sun and surf at the beach in his new body. “I wish they all could be California girls…” he hummed to himself as he basked in the sun and waves.
His bliss was interrupted by a rude shout from the coast. “Hey lady, would’ya like to party with us?” He looked up and saw five guys barbecuing there and decided to join them for some brisket and beer. Right then and there he chose too accept a female identity. “Hi, I’m Evy,” she said shyly, shrugging her shoulders, “and I’m looking for fun.”
All of that was fine, but she shouldn’t have let it go any further. One of the guys got her pregnant that night, and Evy didn’t even know his name.