The trill of my alarm wakes me from my sleep. I slap my hand over my phone and mash the side button to silence the noise. Rather than look at the screen, I sit upright and swing my feet over the edge of the bed standing up.

I walk into the bathroom with my eyes practically still closed. It’s not until I snatch off my oversized night shirt and hear something hit the floor that I awaken completely.

I hurriedly turn on the bathroom light to inspect what had fallen, but as soon as the light illuminates the space, I’m too bewildered by my reflection to look on the floor.

My nose has been chipped away into something so narrow I sniff just to make sure it still works. My hair is jet black now, and hangs down to my…my…

I twist my torso from side to side. My eyes bulge. Ever since I was 13 years old, I’ve always been the “chubby” friend. Now I’m staring at myself in the mirror wondering where this 24 inch waistline came from. “Holy shit!” I yelp aloud as I continue turn my body in the mirror. I move as close to the mirror as the vanity will allow me to go. ‘Is this mine?’ I think to myself as I grip my firm bottom.

I look around startled, and for a split second I wonder if I’m in a surgical aftercare facility having just had a Brazilian Butt Lift and nose job. But that’s my shower curtain. Those are my dirty clothes from marching band practice on the floor.

The floor. I quickly toss my t-shirt aside and see that the crash I heard was a lavalier microphone. A body mic?

I pick up my t-shirt, and I stare at my perfectly proportioned body once more before pulling it on. Even though I look exactly like an obnoxious Kardashian, I smile at the fact I’m no longer the fat girl.

I rush to grab my phone. I have to call my best friend. When I unlock the screen, my phone is still on Instagram from the night before. “What the?” I say out loud again. I have 3.2 million followers.

“Kelsey,” someone who is obviously part of a film crew approaches me. “Why aren’t you mic’d?” He asked touching my back. “Uhh,” I stammer and point behind me. Before I can tell him the microphone is on the bathroom floor, two people are at my side. One fixes my hair, the other begins applying cold concealer under my eyes.

I close my eyes and let the pampering continue. I have no idea what’s going on, but what ever it is, I could get use to it.