Fräulein Stein spent the next several hours in her room, getting dressed. Now it is a tired cliché that a woman will take as much time as offered and more in order to prepare herself, however Fräulein Stein was no cliché. She was not lounging and taking her sweet time. No, she took several hours to prepare herself because she had no idea what she was doing.
She spent more than an hour and a quarter simply putting on a bra. The soft, satiny, cushioned cups of the feminine underthing at first mesmerized her. It was as if she had never so much as held one, and yet had often thought about doing so.
Once the initial fascination wore off (about twenty minutes) she was able to centre the whole operation using these bewitching landmarks. However the rest of the device was a confusing array of intersecting straps that twisted and pulled in all directions, refusing to divulge their secrets.
She actually managed to get the demonic device on at one point, and even had it done up behind her back. However, when she air-punched her self-congratulations, a sharp tug at the back of her head indicated she had managed to tangle her hair in the clasp. That took another ten minutes to undo, putting her straight back to the beginning.
Ultimately she had to completely remove the bra, fasten the clasp in front of her, and then pull it over her head like a T-shirt. She was fairly certain that there were a couple of twists remaining in the back, but she really didn't care at that point.
Undaunted, Fräulein Stein then turned her attention toward pantyhose. Now these alluring leg-liners can reduce the most seasoned veteran of the devilish devices to tears. Fräulein Stein ripped the waistband right off three pair before figuring out the proper technique to fit a three-foot leg into a one-foot tube. She figured that perhaps her undead strength might have played into some of her difficulties, but then, these fashion frivolities seemed so fragile she wondered how any woman would deal with them.
Two hours in and finally in her underwear, Fräulein Stein was ready to enter her enormous walk-in closet. Skirts, blouses, and dresses were organized by season, day versus evening, casual or formal, city versus country versus seaside versus yacht, even by colour.
Fräulein Stein understood none of this. She saw shirts, and things that were not shirts. And among the things which were not shirts, there was nothing that could be classified as pants. There were more clothes in this room than anyone could wear in a decade, and yet there was nothing like the T-shirt and jeans she had expected to find.
After much deliberation, she finally selected a loose-fitting white blouse and a blue pencil skirt. Not that she knew it was a pencil skirt, but some things she was finding she just had to go with. The selection of available shoes seemed to offer nothing with less than a three-inch heel, so she selected a random pair from the blue shoe wall and returned to her room to change.
Some time later Fräulein Stein was seated at her makeup table, scrolling through internet instructions on 'How to Apply Makeup', when there was a knock at her door.
"Come in," she called out. When she noticed Dr. Pretorius having some difficulty with the massive, detached oak door, she ran over to the entry in order to rescue him.
"Sorry about that," she said in embarrassment. "I had some trouble earlier. Don't worry though, I'll pay for it!"
"It is of no concern," replied the doctor, in awe as he watched the tiny teenager lift the solid oak door and set it aside as if it were cardboard. "We have been concerned for you. It has been some hours since we left you alone."
"I've just, you know, been having a lot of trouble," she told him. "Everything is just, like, totally weird. Like this makeup, it makes no sense to me."
Dr. Pretorius assessed the mess of oils and waxes which the Fräulein had managed to apply to herself. "Perhaps if you did not attempt to wear them all at once," he suggested.
"I found this website that helps," she replied. "But it doesn't answer questions like, why the heck am I doing this anyway? Like, my lips are already red, so why exactly should I paint them red?"
The doctor simply shrugged, unsure how to reply. "Women do these things?" was the best he could come up with.
"None of these clothes make any sense either," Fräulein Stein continued. "The buttons on all my shirts, all of them, are all on the wrong side! Why is that? Is that some kind of European thing? And this dress thing I've got on, do you know the zipper goes on the back? I had to spin it around about six times before I figured that one out. Who puts a zipper on the back? And don't even get me started on shoes!"
Dr. Pretorius had no idea how to reply. Then he noticed, "Do you know that there is a comb stuck in the back of your hair?"
"Yeah, I know. Oh! Can you tell me if there's a brush back there as well? I lost it and it's not anywhere." The Fräulein looked left and right over her shoulders, then spun around as if she might just get a glimpse of her own back.
Dr, Pretorius assisted in removing the comb from the Fräulein's golden tresses. "I do not see one, no."
"Darn. Where do you think it is?" she asked, looking around her dressing area.
"Unfortunately none of this is my area of expertise," said the doctor. "Perhaps we could bring in someone who could answer your questions. Someone who could demonstrate the proper way to apply makeup."
Having given up on finding her brush, Fräulein Stein returned to her makeup desk. In frustration, she applied copious amounts of cold cream to her face.
"Actually, I have now officially given up on makeup as the most useless thing ever invented for women," she said as she used a washcloth to remove the cream, and with it her makeup.
"That is a strange idea coming from you, seeing how you made your fortune in the cosmetics industry," Dr. Pretorius said. "In fact, the procedure you have just undergone is intended to restore youth and beauty."
The Fräulein turned to Dr. Pretorius, dumbfounded.
"Are you serious?" she said. "A beauty treatment that leaves you with a giant scar across your forehead? That's gotta be a hard sell!"
Pretorius pressed on. "I understand Grigore Albescu is in the area. He is one of Europe's leading experts on cosmetics. You often use him in your fashion shows. Perhaps I could make an appointment, and he could assist you with some of your difficulties."
"Okay. Sure. Why not," Fräulein Stein said reluctantly as she began to realize, she would have no choice except to conform to social convention.
"For this evening, we were hoping you would join us for dinner and an evening's entertainment," suggested the doctor.
"Dinner?" said Fräulein Stein in distress, turning to her internet screen. "Evening? Evening gown, evening hair, evening makeup? Oh for... okay, just give me a few minutes, okay?"
"Of course," said Dr. Pretorius, as he left the young woman to sort things out.
Alone again, Fräulein Stein turned to her computer. Pulling up a Google screen, she searched for the concepts she needed to learn.
"Evening, hairstyles, long hair," she muttered to herself as she typed. Dozens of beautiful but amazingly complex hairstyles instantly appeared on her screen, along with about a million links all offering to make her hair look like a perfectly sculpted loaf of bread perched on top of her head. Having absolutely no guidance (and even less of a clue), Fräulein Stein selected a link at random.
"Hi guys, welcome back!" said the perky young blonde woman in the YouTube video which popped up. "Today we're going to try something you'll want to use on some special occasion when you absolutely have to be your gorgeous best, the French Twist! So make sure you've got a brush, a fine comb and your pins handy, and let's get started."
This video seemed as good as any, so the Fräulein arranged her comb and pins, and determined herself to copy the instructor's every move.
"First, bring all your hair back, then pull it over to one side like this. Brush it out. Secure it from the bottom with a couple of pins, now lift up, hand under the hair, press it flat with the other hand, now secure with your fingers as you twist the hair tightly upward..."
Fräulein Stein attempted to mimic the fluid movements of the instructor, yet she was hopelessly awkward. Plus she'd already had to skip the second step, since she still couldn't find her brush. She was considering whether to give up on a French Twist, whatever that was, and try something else...
Fräulein Stein's eyes widened, and her pupils dilated. Flashes of electricity blazed like a tiny lightning storm within her eyes. Within her mind synapses fired, axons transmitted in sequence, neurons aligned...
Fräulein Stein's eyes locked on the computer screen. Her hand shot out, grabbing the brush from where it lay hidden behind the computer monitor, as if her hands were released from her direct mental control and were now operating independently.
As if in a trance, Fräulein Stein reproduced the movements of the instructor precisely. Hair was pulled back, brushed, pinned, lifted, twisted...