Congratulations Figure of Speech!

As the words leave the mouth of a young girl three timezones away, your form will shift.  Your chest will begin to contract, your head and shoulders will dive into themselves and your face will vanish into a torrent of flesh cascading upwards.  Your voice will vanish and be replaced by a shrill "meow."

It'll be telling that your live in girlfriend's response, rather than terror, will be exasperation.

"Again?"

You'll nod, a gesture that, now that you've taken on the form of a cat's esophagus and larynx, will just look like a worm dancing.  Your girlfriend will throw the remote controller at you from across the room.  Without hands to defend yourself with, it'll strike you in a newly formed tender spot called "anywhere on your body."  Life as the cat's meow will be a collection of agonies, of raw sensitive nerves firing simultaneously.

As your girlfriend shouts at you to just pay to have the gypsy woman's car fixed and settle the whole thing you'll try to shout something back at her about the principle of the thing, but a muted mewling will be all that comes out of your mouth.  A part of you, a deep, shame-filled part of you filled with ideas you force down inside yourself, will know that she's right.

Congratulations Figure of Speech!