He DIDN'T Ask.

You have taken judo lessons for several years, and throw your husband off of you effortlessly, to which he howls even more, but shows you his, (much thinner and more muscular,) belly which your newly altered brain realizes is a sign of submission and apology. You are still mad, but accept his submission and turn your attention to your current problem, your children. They have heard you both howling in pain out here and are doubtless scared right now, you need to reassure them...

"Children, I'm alright, you can come out now," you say, but realize you are not going to be convincing because your normal contralto voice is now a soprano.

Fortunately, your eight-year-old daughter comes to your rescue, even as the baby starts crying from your own tent. "Go away! You're not my mom!" She says.

"Your name is Rebecca Mary-Ann Johnston, your favorite color is sky blue, your birthday is January Fifteenth, you have been doing poorly in school for the past four-and-a-third months since your baby brother Tyler Luke Matthew Johnston was born, and if you don't come out of that tent right now, I am going to tell everyone about the soda cup on route sixty-six last summer!" You bark, and the tent is unzipped a little, your daughter peeking out.

"Hey! How do you know about that?! My mom pinky swore she wouldn't tell anyone!"

"Becky, I know this will be hard to believe, but I AM your mom. I was bitten by some kind of dog-woman-thing and now I am one, that's why I look and sound different. So was your dad, he's the one with black fur next to me, and we still love you, so come out of the tent, please," you say, tearing up.