“It Happened One Morning…” tells the story of Boz Studebaker, a famous but burned-out on-air relationship coach who, one morning, suddenly turns into a woman. Now’s he forced not only to live a woman’s life, but also take his own advice. He–Bonnie–does everything she can to turn back to Boz, even enduring problematic “woman-y” situations and two little shapeshifters. But a horrific event leads her to the love of her life. For the first time, Bonnie doesn’t want to return to being Boz. Problem is, the Universe has other plans for her.
“It Happened One Morning…” tells the story of Boz Studebaker, a famous but burned-out on-air relationship coach who, one morning, suddenly turns into a woman. Now’s he forced not only to live a woman’s life, but also take his own advice. He–Bonnie–does everything she can to turn back to Boz, even enduring problematic “woman-y” situations and two little shapeshifters. But a horrific event leads her to the love of her life. For the first time, Bonnie doesn’t want to return to being Boz. Problem is, the Universe has other plans for her.
Mid-March
Washington, D.C.
From the Farragut West Metro subway escalator to bustling 17th and K Streets, Boz strode like a boss. Signing a five-year, $25 million contract renewal with Great Media, Inc. had put a bounce in his step, and Boswell Studebaker, the number one relationship and dating advice celebrity in North America, dominated that format.
His fleece-lined, black leather jacket was perfect for this sunny but chilly Friday morning. The wind ruffled the dark hair on his slowly receding hairline as he passed Farragut Park, along with others hurrying to work. Come spring, Farragut Park would resemble an emerald carpet with flower baskets hanging from lampposts and spindly trees sprouting buds in a few more weeks into spring. Those buds would promise a new beginning. New life.
Possibly a new love? Boz snickered to himself. “Yeah, right.”
At thirty-eight, he didn’t worry about romance. It was the love lives of women, young, old, and in between, to whom he had dedicated his career. The callers this week had their problems like they did every week. Every month. Year after painful year. Twelve, long, miserable years.
Most of his callers meant well, struggling to find solutions for their relationship perplexities and broken hearts. A few were easy to advise. Others needed more professional counseling than he could deliver. Deep-dive therapy wasn’t his job. Quick-bite advice, with wisdom topped with droll, tongue-in-cheek humor, that was Boz Studebaker.
Sometimes, that humor went too far.
As Boz headed for K Street, the shriek of vibrating jackhammers caught his attention. A fenced-off construction site bustled with workers in white hardhats. A blue sign with white lettering, Pacek Construction, asked passersby to “pardon our dust.” Boz recognized the name. Pacek Construction had built his high-end condo building.
He turned onto K Street and into the quiet lobby of an eight-story building. The lobby gleamed like a galaxy and smelled of a mix of vanilla and Lysol. Even the modern light fixtures, their small, bright bulbs hanging in staggered formation from the ceiling, gave a star-like quality to the reception area.
At the golden-plated elevators, he rubbed his palms together, waiting with anticipation. What attractive women would he gaze upon today? Every morning, he searched for his “Cancun”—the epitome of the enchanting girl he had met in Mexico when he was in college. Cancun wasn’t her name, of course. He just called her that.
The doors opened, Boz smiled wider—and his face fell. Same ol’ ladies he worked with every day. “Good morning, Boz!” they greeted him.
He nodded, joining them. “Ladies.”
They stepped back to give their favorite celebrity space, and the doors closed. All was quiet except for the elevator’s hum. He glanced at each woman, all fellow WWAM-FM employees. Most were young, some right out of college. Perfect for radio—scant experience, cheap pay. Fiftyish Irene Toll, the chief numbers cruncher impressed with Boz’s sky-high ratings data, stood beside him. The one on his left grinned at him… She looks familiar. I see her every day. Doesn’t she work for Chuck? What’s her name—Janey? Julie? No, that’s my bartender.
The elevator opened to the 8th floor, and he held the doors. “Have a great day, ladies.”
As they rushed out, he studied their round behinds, swaying side to side, and shook his head. Nope. No Cancun.
He headed down the hall of offices, past the Wall of Fame at his left, where framed photos of honored employees hung. To the right, he entered his soundproof studio.
His producer, Liz Ortiz, sat in her windowed booth, talking to the station manager, Chuck Jefferson. With her animated expression and hands gesturing in the air, she seemed excited, and when she saw Boz, her eyes got big. She waved him over.
He opened her booth door and chuckled. “Are you two conspiring against me again?”
“We just snagged a multi-million-dollar sponsor,” Chuck rejoiced, his round face puffing out as his potbelly threatened to pop his shirt’s buttons. If this black man were any happier, he’d explode. “A pharmaceutical company named Eros Medical signed over their riches for your show. Their products are for sexual enhancement, but not just for men. It’s for women, too, and it’s revolutionary.” He lowered his voice to a rich baritone: ‘Can’t pleasure her? Eros Rejuvenation will. So say goodbye to stress and worry. Have fun, you two. Eros Rejuvenation. For her, and his, pleasure.’” Chuck winked. “Like it?”
Boz shrugged. “Sounds great, if you like cheese.”
“Just so you know,” Liz emphasized to him with her eyes rimmed with the thickest false eyelashes he had ever seen, “that ‘cheese’ was fermented by your buddy, Dale.”
Boz crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. His smile crooked to the right—his trademark smile, as if he was enjoying a private joke and was dying to share it. “Well, I’ll be damned. Dale did it.”
Chuck glanced between them. “Who’s Dale?”
“Dale Stayer. A good friend of mine since college. He’s been angling to be Eros Medical’s top advertising client for a year now. He finally got their account, good for him.”
“And now it’s ours!” Chuck patted Boz’s shoulder. “Have a good hour. Give Eros Medical a big ‘rise’ in profits. Get it? Hey! Like I have to worry.”
For a 300-pound man, Chuck hurried out gracefully as if bouncing on a fluffy carpet of Cloud Nine.
“Hey, Chuck,” Boz called after him, “I recommend you not listen to the commercial. Your wife wouldn’t want your blood pressure skyrocketing higher than it is.”
He and Liz grinned at each other. She resembled a young Linda Ronstadt: a sleek black pageboy, a round face blessed with big, dark brown eyes, an adorable little nose, and pouty lips. But her attitude. Damn.
“Stayer the Player struck again,” she said.
She just had to say something snarky.
“You gotta admit, he’s good,” said Boz. “I’ve never seen anyone work so hard to snag a client. He not only wins them over, he keeps them by exceeding their expectations. And then he spreads the wealth to the Luv Talk with Boz show.” He outstretched his arms like a showman.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re on in one minute, luver.”
“Coffee first, headset second, callers third.”
Boz hurried to the automatic drip coffee maker on a buffet near his desk. That old relic always produced steamy, hot, freshly made joe, its rich aroma caressing his nose. Bless your heart, Liz. You’d make some man a good wife. He poured the coffee into a black cup that warned in bold white letters, “Be nice, or I’ll tell your mother.” A Christmas gag gift from Liz. She knew too well that he and his mother disagreed on everything. Especially his resistance to marriage and family.
Boz sat before a mic suspended over the desk by a black metal boom arm and shock mount and slipped on his headset. Before him winked his audio console and three computer monitors, all brightly lit with their home screens. Didn’t need the monitors. He only played games and brain teasers on them when callers bored him.
He glanced at Liz in her booth, waiting for her countdown. Then a quick reminder to himself. Be generous with the ladies, dude. Only three hours of their whining. You can do this! Just three hours.
The digital wall clock in his studio showed 8:59:55. Liz lifted her right hand and lowered each digit in time. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. She pointed at him.
The red and white ON AIR light flashed near the wall clock. A pre-recorded announcement, with a baritone voice and cheery background music, hit the airwaves: “Live from Washington, D.C., the superpower capital of the world! It’s Luv Talk with Boz. Here he is, the Sage for Star-crossed Lovers, the Shaman of Broken Hearts, the Guru of Gab, your host, Boz Studebaker!”
The phone lines blinked at him from his console, and Boz punched the red On audio button and leaned to the mic. “I don’t know about the guru part, but who in the world writes these intros, Liz?”
“You should know,” her sarcasm replied on air. “You did.”
He gave a controlled chuckle. “I love my producer, folks. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you tune in just to hear her take me down.” He threw her a stern glance. She flashed him a fake grin. “Good morning, faithful listeners, on this breathtaking, chilly Friday! I’m so full of loooove today, I can’t stand it. Hey, Liz. Speaking of loooove, did you know we’re approaching spring break?”
“How about that,” she deadpanned.
“You remember spring break, don’t you, Lizzy? You, me, Cozumel…?”
She stared lasers at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lizzy must have a memory lapse, folks, but I don’t see how.” He leaned to the mic provocatively and kidded, “It was exciting for meee.”
Her eyes narrowed. A warning for him to clam up.
He playfully pouted. “She doesn’t want to play. Bummer. So let’s get on with the show because our lines are lit like weed heads at a Grateful Dead concert.”
“Yes, our lines are lit!” she chirped with cheery sarcasm. “For example, there’s Janna on Line One. She won’t date men until they write her an essay on why they’re worthy of her.”
Boz’s jaw dropped, then he chuckled to himself. A ballsy girl. Gotta love it.
This book is a wild ride! It Happened One Morning takes the overdone “waking up in someone else’s body” trope, shakes it, and flips it into a gender-bending rollercoaster with Boz Studebaker at the centre. Or should I say, Bonnie?
First, let’s talk about Boz, the arrogant, know-it-all relationship coach who suddenly wakes up as Bonnie—a woman in a world full of eyebrow-raising "woman-y" situations. Watching Boz stumble (and sometimes hilariously fail) through the nuances of femininity had me giggling, cringing, and nodding in solidarity all at once. It’s equal parts relatable and absurd. Add in two mischievous shapeshifters? Chaos, but in the best way.
The book shines brightest in how it pokes fun at societal gender dynamics. Bonnie’s journey is a hilarious but hard-hitting commentary on what it means to walk in someone else’s shoes—or stilettos. From dealing with unsolicited advice on " looking approachable” to navigating unexpected romance, Bonnie’s transformation is emotional, messy, and oddly touching.
But, let’s not ignore the flaws. The first half gets bogged down with a lot of slapstick humour that might feel repetitive. Boz’s resistance to his new reality drags on longer than necessary, making you wonder, “Dude, just try listening to your advice already!” And those shapeshifters? They’re quirky but sometimes distract from the heart of the story.
What ultimately saves this book is its emotional punch. A particularly dark twist takes the story into a much deeper space, leading Bonnie to someone who could finally break through her walls. When she realizes she doesn’t want to go back to being Boz? That’s when the book stops being a comedy and starts hitting you right in the feels.
Overall, It Happened One Morning is imperfect, yes, but it’s also clever, gutsy, and weirdly addictive. It’s one of those books that keeps you flipping pages, not because it’s flawless, but because it’s real (even with all the shapeshifters). Perfect for fans of gender-bending chaos, heartfelt growth, and stories that force you to re-examine your relationships.
Would I recommend it? Definitely—just come prepared for some bumps along the way.