On the move
Organs go walkabout
Well something was clearly on the move. Sarah had thought initially that it was outside her: the trees and the bushes seemed to have shifted a foot or two since last week, and her furniture had developed a mind of its own. She had never seen so many scuff marks on the carpet: the table must had dragged itself a good few inches. And the jars in the cupboards had reorganised themselves in a very odd way. She had put pulses together, various nuts side by side, herbs and spices separately. Now somehow they were all categorised by colour: red, yellow, green. Red lentils and paprika side-by-side. It was inconvenient. It was not that her life was spinning out of control, but that someone else had a different idea of what should go with what. That could be a sort of heresy.
As it turned out, though, things were on the move inside Sarah as well. She visited the dentist for a check-up, and he remarked casually “have you noticed that your teeth are shifting in your mouth? Are you going to buy a dental dam to keep them in their proper place?” She said she’d let him order one; “I prefer the pink version”. But by the time she got home, the wandering teeth had moved further towards the front, and were bigger, so that she looked like Bugs Bunny. Never mind, Sarah thought, she could always hide her teeth behind a fan. The only problem was that the new dentition made her dribble more than before, so that the front of her frock was soaked through. She’d need to wear a sort of Puritan collar made of plastic.
The next change was more disconcerting. She had noticed that she was getting slightly hard of hearing, and often had to cock her head to catch people’s words. Gradually, her ears began to migrate towards the top of her head. She could hear much better - everything was so loud! - but the new ears were rather large, and made her look like an Alsatian dog. She fashioned a sort of bonnet to conceal them. When she put on her red cardigan, she looked like Red Riding Hood and the Wolf at the same time.
Now Sarah had always been proud of her breasts. Though on the large side, they were firm and wilful, and her nipples would stand out like chapel hat-pegs in cold weather. But even they were not immune to the shifting sands. They began to move. They slid across her chest, travelled across her clavicle, over her arms, and finally settled on her shoulderblades. There was one advantage: her current swain loved to hug her (she couldn’t get him to do anything else), and now he could touch her breasts at the same time. It was an ill wind, thought Sarah bitterly.
She was now seriously rattled. Would she start to grow a penis? She rather hoped not, as she wouldn’t know what to do with it, rather like most of the men she had known. But luck was on her side. Or so she thought. Her vagina was on the move. It seemed to be thinking where was best. And then one morning Sarah woke and found that her vagina had made its home in the space where one of her ears had been. It nestled right inside her skull. Her clitoris looked rather like the whorls of the ears she had lost. Waste not, want not. Gamely, Sarah thought she could hide it by growing her hair. A nice long bob. And then, if she wanted to signal that she was ready for the amatory fray, all she needed to do was to put her hair up in a ponytail or a chignon.
Oh well, Sarah thought, it could be worse. In the long slow march of time across her body, the sensory organs had changed their location, but were still functional and relatively inoffensive. What would be horrid would be if her digestive system went on the move and found new orifices. She hated to think about that. Best keep a good eye out, just in case.