KINGDOM, phylum, entry wound

One night while he was sitting in a Chelsea bar with his girlfriend Sandy, Patrick Donnelly turned into a woman. There was no warning it was going to happen; he simply became aware, suddenly, of the strange new weight of breasts on his torso and an unfamiliar girth at his hips. Sandy, for her part, didn't seem to notice. Just started calling him Trish. Unsure what to do, Patrick excused himself and went to the restroom, stopping abruptly in his tracks when, by force of habit, he almost walked into the men's. Having corrected himself, he stood in front of the mirror in the empty ladies' room, noting that he’d turned into not just any woman but the sort you might see in a Victoria's Secret catalog. He marveled at his new arched eyebrows, his translucent blue eyes, his upturned nose, his bee-stung lips. It was like a stranger's face looking back at him -- but not entirely. There was something familiar in it, too. Something in the shape of the eyes, the height of the forehead, that reminded him of the Patrick he knew. Or had known. Examining his clothes, he found himself vaguely approving of what was apparently his taste. He sported a white V-neck T-shirt that showed a bit of freckled cleavage, a pair of loose, faded jeans that hung provocatively on his hips, a pair of earthy sandals. The crimson red polish on his toenails was chipped.