Aunt Rose Change Me Into Girl (Again) - Intro

Season One

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It was late August 2018 in Chicago, the city still buzzing with the last vestiges of summer, a humid warmth clinging to the air. I stood outside a sleek, modern brownstone in Wicker Park, a duffel bag slung over my shoulder, a knot of nervous excitement and existential dread tightening in my stomach. 

My parents, ever the ambitious entrepreneurs, had just jetted off to Austin to launch their latest venture: a high-tech, plant-based meal delivery service that promised to revolutionize healthy eating. 

They’d playfully (and mostly seriously) decided I, 16-year-old Rome, was too much of a "distraction" for their pre-launch chaos. So, here I was, dropped off with my Aunt Rose. My dad used to quip she was a "mindfulness guru in designer athleisure," which, honestly, always made me roll my eyes.

Aunt Rose opened the door, a vision of calm in a forest-green Lululemon set, her silver hair pulled back in a neat, high ponytail, and chic, rimless glasses perched on her nose. "Rome," she said, her voice a soothing balm, her eyes warm and perceptive.

My parents, brilliant entrepreneurs and relentless innovators, were unstoppable in the business and the boardroom. But raising a kid? That was never their main course. They’d always joked, half-seriously, that I was "born by mistake"—a happy accident that didn't quite fit into their whirlwind life of venture capital pitches and product launches. 

I’d grown up hopping between corporate apartments and co-working spaces, knowing more about seed funding rounds than, well, regular high school stuff. Now, with their startup finally cooking, I was lovingly outsourced. And guess who they trusted me with? Not a distant cousin or a grandparent. Nope, it was Aunt Rose.

She was my mom's older sister, fiercely independent and incredibly successful. She ran a thriving holistic wellness center and yoga studio downtown, living alone in this impeccably designed loft. The first thing I noticed, beyond the sparkling cleanliness, was the absolute lack of clutter. Every surface gleamed, every plant on the balcony looked perfectly manicured. 

When I casually asked if she had a cleaning service, she simply raised an eyebrow. "I used to. They kept 'misplacing' my AirPods. I've done perfectly fine since then." Her tone made it clear she was perfectly capable and didn't need pity or advice.

 Right then, I knew my usual lazy habits wouldn't fly here. No maid to do my laundry, no one to make my bed. This was going to be an adventure in self-sufficiency, Chicago-style.

The house rules were less a shock and more a gentle realignment. After a dinner of quinoa-stuffed bell peppers and a surprisingly refreshing "adaptogen-infused herbal tea," Aunt Rose handed me a sleek, minimalist bullet journal. 

It was titled "Rome: Mindful Living & Growth Tracker," with a sticker on the cover that read, "Your Best Self, Unfiltered." Inside were pages of neatly printed guidelines: "Wake up at 6:00 AM sharp. Make your bed. Hydrate with lemon water before touching your phone. No screens until after morning meditation and journaling. Breakfast at 7:30."

"We'll alternate cooking and cleaning duties," she said, as if offering me a coveted internship. There were also friendly guidelines about screen time, what to wear, how to sit, and even how to chew mindfully. I just blinked at the list, still comfy in my faded band t-shirt and worn-out basketball shorts, and thought, "Wow, I haven’t just moved homes; I’ve entered some kind of serene, high-performance retreat."

I caught a glimpse of myself in the large, industrial-chic mirror by the dining area. There I was, with slumped shoulders, my wonderfully messy, long dark hair that curled a little strangely at the ends, and skin a few shades paler than I liked to admit, always indoors, gaming. 

My eyes were my only really good feature, honestly. They're almond-shaped, a soft brown that sometimes looks gold in the light, and surrounded by surprisingly thick eyelashes that girls at school used to tease me about. I was a bit on the shorter side, maybe 5'5" on a good day, with a thin body that always looked a little underfed and a chin that wasn't quite sure if it wanted to be strong or just gracefully disappear. 

My clothes were even worse—baggy sweatpants, a faded Fortnite t-shirt, and sneakers worn so thin you could almost see my toes through them. Standing there, surrounded by her artisanal ceramics, minimalist lamps, and air-purifying plants, I felt a little bit like a badly drawn cartoon trying to blend into an Architectural Digest spread. Oops! And the best part? Aunt Rose noticed. She didn't say anything—not yet—but her eyebrow arched just a tiny bit, and I knew a wonderful change was on its way.

Next Day.

The room wasn't dark when I woke up, but the door was open, and the lovely smell of peppermint, eucalyptus, and some other essential oils floated in. My phone was on the side table, still peacefully asleep from the night before, with the words 

"Awaken Your Day" is written perfectly in a calligraphic font below it. 

"Be in the kitchen by 6:15. Green smoothie waits for no one," a note playfully urged.

I slowly got out of bed and went to the bathroom, secretly hoping to just splash my face and crawl back into bed, but even the bathroom had its own friendly rules! There was a laminated card near the mirror called "Morning Ritual." The list included brushing teeth (using a cool charcoal toothpaste), tongue scraping (with a neat copper scraper), rinsing the face three times with cold water, applying rosewater mist, and so on. I just blinked, a little confused, as I usually just scrolled through Instagram until my eyes got used to the new light.

By 6:18, I stumbled into the kitchen, still in the same t-shirt and boxers from the night before. Aunt Rose was already looking radiant in a light lavender workout top and yoga pants, her hair neatly tied in a bun. 

The kitchen was absolutely spotless! She looked at me briefly over her cup of vibrant green smoothie.

“You’re late,” she said calmly, “and you smell like a teenage boy’s gaming chair. Go change. No breakfast without a shower in this house.”

“I thought the smoothie waits for no one,” I mumbled, trying to be clever.

“It doesn’t,” she replied, sipping slowly with a gentle smile. “Which is why you’re missing it.”

I stood there, blinking at her. 

This was my delightful new life!

I came back, having (reluctantly but happily) showered and dressed in a plain grey T-shirt and dark wash jeans, my hair still wonderfully wet. The kitchen had transformed into something straight out of a healthy food blog! The dining table had no sign of the usual cereal or buttered toast I was used to. 

Instead, there were two beautiful ceramic bowls—white with small specks—and on each, a neat setup of sautéed kale, sprouted lentils, a small bowl of chia seed pudding with chopped berries and nuts, and two perfectly toasted avocado toasts stacked like fancy appetizers. Aunt Rose sat at the head of the table, sipping from a tall glass of infused water. Her posture was perfect, her face showing a serene calm.

“Sit straight,” she said as I slumped into the chair across from her. “No phone. No distractions. Eat mindfully.”

I looked down at the food, not sure where to begin. No bacon, no syrup, no cheesy omelet. Just lovely green things and comforting, healthy mush.

“This looks... clean,” I offered.

“It’s balanced,” she corrected with a warm smile. “Your body has been living on processed foods. You need to reset. Chia has lots of omega-3s, lentils aid digestion, and kale helps with detoxification.”

I blinked. “Detoxification? I’m not a science experiment, you know.”

She gave me a gentle look. “Everyone is a project. Especially those with untapped potential.”

I wasn’t sure if I was insulted or complimented, but I ate. Slowly. The chia pudding was surprisingly creamy, the lentils crunchy, the avocado toast fresh and satisfying. It wasn’t what I was used to, but it wasn’t bad either. As we finished, she pushed a small glass jar toward me. Inside was a thick green paste.

“What’s this now?”

“A digestive aid, a blend of spirulina, chlorella, and ginger. Take it.” I stared at her. She sipped her infused water, calmly watching me swallow the earthy mix with a little shiver.

As we finished the quiet, herb-filled breakfast, Aunt Rose leaned back in her chair and gracefully wiped the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin. Every move she made was precise, as if she had practiced it beautifully. I was still happily chewing the last bits of sprouted lentils, wondering if it was too soon to ask for coffee, when she spoke—calmly, as though it was already a lovely plan.

“Tomorrow, we’ll start Pilates at 6:00 sharp. In the living room. Wear something you can move in.”

I almost choked. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” she said, sipping her lukewarm infused water. “You have a restless mind, bad posture, and a sluggish metabolism. Pilates will fix that.”

I stared at her, hoping she was joking. She wasn’t.

“You want me to wake up before sunrise and stretch like some influencer on TikTok?”

“Better than scrolling through memes until 3 a.m. in bed and sleeping with your mouth open,” she replied, without even looking up from her drink.

I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t find the words fast enough. She slid a glass of warm lemon water toward me. “Drink that. It’ll help cleanse your system.” I drank it, mostly out of curiosity, and somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispered, "This woman is going to completely change my life in the most wonderful way." And I hadn’t even made it to lunch yet!

After breakfast, I tried to sneak back to my room to rest, maybe scroll through YouTube Shorts, and pretend I still had control over my life. But Aunt Rose called out before I could disappear. "Rome," she said, "come here." Her voice wasn’t loud, but it had a gentle authority.

I stepped back into the living room. She was standing near the balcony, tenderly watering her succulent garden, dressed now in a light blue activewear top with crisp white leggings. She looked me over once, just once, and said, “That T-shirt has holes near the collar. And those jeans don’t belong in this loft.”

I blinked. “These are my clothes…”

“And they were fine yesterday,” she said calmly. “But not here. You’re not on vacation. You’re in a home that values self-respect—and that starts with how you dress.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but she had already turned and walked toward the minimalist closet in the hallway. A few seconds later, she handed me a neatly folded outfit—an off-white linen button-down shirt with subtle blue pinstripes and a pair of drawstring lounge pants made of soft organic cotton. “Change, these are comfortable. You’ll wear things like this at home from now on. Clean, breathable, proper.”

“Is this some kind of punishment?” I asked.

“No,” she replied with a gentle smile. “It’s realignment.”

I stared at the fabric in my hands. It was soft, smooth—even kind of nice, if I was being honest. But it felt like something I’d wear to a resort, not to sit around at home. Still, I went back into my room and changed. The clothes were light, surprisingly comfortable. And when I looked at myself in the mirror, I didn’t look worse. When I came out, she gave a small nod. “Better, now go fold your laundry.”

At 9 AM, Aunt Rose had left early for her wellness center, looking elegant in an ivory silk blouse with tailored trousers and a chic blazer folded neatly over her arm. Before leaving, she handed me a handwritten list clipped to the fridge with a magnet. "To be completed before 6:30 PM," it read at the top, in her sharp, flowing handwriting:

• Dust all shelves, including the bookshelf.

• Mop the floors with eco-friendly lavender solution (mix 3 caps, not more).

• Water balcony plants (check soil moisture).

• Reorganize the toiletries drawer by category.

To any outsider, it might’ve seemed like simple housework. To me, it felt like preparing for a big, important exam I hadn’t studied for! The loft was so wonderfully quiet without her voice. 

Even the city sounds outside seemed to hum more politely when she wasn’t around. At first, I thought about skipping half of it and just pretending I tried, but there was something about the way she had said, “I expect the home to reflect effort,” that morning. Like she was training me for something more than just chores.

So, I rolled up the sleeves of my new off-white linen shirt, tied back my messy hair with a hair tie I found in the drawer, and happily got to work. Dusting was fine—until I found out that her bookshelf had books on mindfulness and nutrition in alphabetical order, all arranged by their authors and the year they were published! Mopping was a whole different thing: the lavender solution smelled like a spa, and I kept slipping because I wore socks. She hadn’t written “don’t wear socks,” but I knew she'd probably say, “common sense is part of the task.”

By 5:00, the loft smelled like an herbal spa mixed with a little bit of sweat and happy accomplishment. My shirt was damp, my hands smelled wonderfully of soap, and I had managed to separate shampoo from conditioner in the toiletries drawer, though not without searching on Google for "difference between serum and essence!" At 6:27, she walked in.

She didn’t say anything right away. She walked around quietly, checking corners, her fingers lightly touching surfaces like a gentle quality inspector. Then she gave a small, almost unnoticeable nod. “You forgot to fold the bath towels,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “But not bad, Rome. Tomorrow, we’ll add cooking to the list!” And just like that, the next delightful test was planned.

Dinner that night was simple and delicious lentil soup with brown rice and a side of roasted asparagus that crackled gently in olive oil. Aunt Rose didn’t say much as we ate. She rarely made small talk during meals; for her, food was a way to be mindful and appreciative. I, however, could barely stay awake! 

Every muscle in my body ached from mopping, lifting plants, and organizing everything from bath towels to essential oils in the correct drawer order. I was sore in places I didn’t know existed! 

By the time I washed my plate and wiped down the counter (another unwritten rule I was happily learning), I slowly made my way to the bedroom and practically fell onto the neatly made bed. Even my sheets smelled wonderfully fresh! I reached for my phone and checked the time, 9:41 PM. Then I remembered: Pilates. At 6:00 AM! Using the last bit of energy I had, I unlocked my phone and set the alarm for 5:45 AM.