"Get up."

Chandler slowly opened one eye, half-hoping he was dreaming. His own ticked-off face stared back at him. "Why?"

"We're still in each other's bodies," Monica informed him, stepping back so he could get a better view of himself…dressed in blue plaid flannel pajamas.

"Gee, thanks Mon. I couldn't have possibly figured that out if you hadn't woken me up at seven in the morning and told me!" Chandler wrinkled his brow as his vision became less foggy. He hated those pajamas. He was surprised she found them – they were typically shoved in the back of his sock drawer. "By the way, why are you wearing the pajamas your mother gave me for Christmas last year?"

Monica put her hands on her hips. "Because I wasn't about to sleep in boxers and a t-shirt!"

That made Chandler sit up. "You mean you're…you're…"

"Going commando? Yeah-huh! Those boxers are fun to wear once in a while after sex, but all that extra material gets really uncomfortable," Monica explained, as if the fact should have been obvious. When he made no sign of commenting, she went on, "Anyway, there's a reason I'm getting you out of bed now."

"To get revenge for having to wear boxers all day?" Chandler guessed.

Monica rolled her eyes. "No, Chandler, this is serious! I got a call from my boss at work."

"That's typically where bosses are," Chandler quipped.

Sighing, Monica ignored him. "He says there's a critic coming to the restaurant today! To sample some food made by me! See where this is going?"

"But you can't cook!" Chandler protested, jumping out of bed. "Well, I mean the 'you' as in your body, because the you in my body can cook, which is kind of weird when you think that my body can cook –"

"Chandler!" Monica interrupted. "This critic is important! A good review from him could improve our business ten-fold!"

"But if I cook anything, you'll get a bad review and your business will decrease ten-fold!" Chandler argued.

"At this point, the cooking doesn't matter," Monica told him. "The guy's going to be really angry if the head chef doesn't even show, so we're better off if you make an appearance and suck rather than you not being there at all. As for the food, I don't know, we'll have to make up some excuse."

"What excuse?" Chandler questioned, completely terrified of the idea of him cooking for an influential food critic. "That…that…see! I'm so anxious that I can't even come up with a witty retort! That should tell you something!"

Monica paused at that. "Okay, hold on, I think I have an idea. The critic doesn't come into the kitchen to watch me…er, you cook. So you bring your cell phone, and I'll guide you, step by step. It will be like a hands-on cooking lesson."

"Okay." Chandler's heart returned to its normal rate, incredibly relieved they had a plan. However, since he was calm, he noticed a detail he hadn't bothered to think about in the few minutes of being awake. "Um, Mon, I just realized…we're still in each other bodies."

Monica raised an eyebrow. "You just realized that?"

Chandler shook his head. "No, I mean, we're still in each other's bodies, and it's been a full day since it happened. Though I knew Phoebe had to get more of the elixir, a small part of me was believing that this was a dream and, come the next time we woke up, I'd be me again."

"Aw, sweetie, come here." Monica crossed the small amount of floor space between her and Chandler and wrapped him in a hug. Both of them sitting on the edge of the bed, Monica comforted, "I know, believe me, I know. Truthfully, I thought the same thing. The rational side of me doesn't understand this either. But I can't deny the fact that my nails are in desperate need of filing and that, well, what made me a girl is replaced with what made you a guy."

Chandler laughed. "Still can't get the hang of going to the bathroom, huh?"

"It's hard to aim!" Monica pouted. Getting over the momentary lightheartedness, she brought his eyes to meet hers. "Anyway, yes, this is an…incredible situation we're in, but look on the bright side. We can learn about each other more than we ever would have been able to otherwise."

Chandler smirked. "Yeah, like that tattoo you have right above your thigh…"

Monica's eyes widened. "What! I do not! At least, I don't remember…oh God, you didn't!" She then turned Chandler around, intent on seeing what he was talking about.

Chandler turned back to flash her an evil grin. "Made you look!"

Chandler paced the restaurant's kitchen, becoming more nervous by the second. It was around lunchtime, and so far business had been thankfully slow. He'd only had to pretend to cook – he had been able to get the other chefs to prepare most of the meals, claiming he was saving his culinary skills for the critic. But the critic was scheduled to be here in ten minutes, and Monica hadn't called him back!

He had been able to stay calm for most of the morning. Then, at about 11:30, he had called Monica to remind her that she would be coaching him in about a half hour. That's when he received the terrifying news. She might not be able to help him! Apparently there was some important meeting at his work, and his boss was forcing Monica to attend on threat of pay decrease.

That's when he had remembered. Creators of a new processing program were coming to his company, and his boss was going to try to persuade them to let him use their advanced technology. Of course, his boss was not the best presenter, so he was forcing Chandler to be there for moral support…as well as to do most of the presenting. While he was happy he wouldn't have to do it, he felt bad for Monica, who had no idea what she was talking about. Plus there was the fact that a terrible presentation would not bode well for his job.

But that was the least of his problems that the moment. The critic was waiting outside, and if he didn't deliver for Monica, well, both of their jobs would be on the line by the day's end.

Becoming desperate as the seconds ticked away, he grabbed his cell phone. Monica or no, he had to cook something that wouldn't make the critic want to barf. So, there was only one choice. He had to call for outside help. He then considered his options. Joey could barely make a PB&J, and if Rachel tried the fire department would have to be at the apartment within minutes…there was Phoebe, but he didn't want to distract her from her quest of getting them in their own bodies…that left Ross as his emergency lifeline. He was dead.

Still, at this point he would try anything. He dialed Ross' number, but got his machine. After leaving a frantic message begging for assistance and to call him on his, well, Monica's cell. He finally contacted Ross at Joey's apartment. "Hey Ross, um, I need a favor."

On the other end, Ross was in Joey's kitchen, making a sandwich for lunch. He was bored at his place, what with Rachel getting through one of his classes, so he was hanging out at Joey's. "Monica? What…oh, right, hey Chandler. What do you need?"

"You're never going to believe this," Chandler started, then realized how stupid that sounded when he was in his wife's body. He then proceeded to explain how he was trapped in Monica's restaurant's kitchen, with no inkling of how to cook something for the waiting critic. "So what do I do, man?"

Ross winced. It was strange hearing his sister's voice call him "man." "How should I know? Mon's the cook in the family. The most I could tell you is how to make a grilled cheese sandwich."

Chandler deliberated over this for a moment. "You know, at this point I don't care what the menu is as long as I can make it."

"Chandler, if you serve a critic grilled cheese my sister will kill you," Ross warned him, dead serious. Finished making his sandwich, he carried it over to the recliner with him and sat down. He was exhausted; apparently one couldn't stand long when pregnant.

"Then what am I going to do, Ross, what am I going to do?" Chandler wailed.

"I don't know," Ross answered around a mouthful of sandwich. He then grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. His eyes widened as he got an idea. "Hey, I got it! I just turned on the TV, and the Food Network was on!"

"And…you thought that hearing good chefs would make me one?" Chandler quipped, growing more anxious by the millisecond.

"No, see, don't you get it?" Ross asked. "You said Monica was going to tell you what to do over the phone, right?"

Now Chandler saw Ross' plan. "That's genius, man! You watch the show, then tell me exactly what the guy's doing, and I'll make whatever he's making. If it's not on the menu I'll tell the critic it's a special."

"Well, it's not a 'he'." Ross revealed, watching the show. "It's '30-Minute Meals' hosted by Rachael Ray. She's making an entire meal in less than thirty minutes."

"Which is about all the time I have before the big vein in the critic's temple pops," Chandler informed him. "Hey, wait, Rachael Ray… I've heard of her. Monica likes the show. Rachael's hot."

"Yeah she is," Ross agreed, watching the brunette chef carry an armload of ingredients from a counter to an island. "And she's just starting. It's perfect."

"What's she making?" Chandler inquired, wanting to start getting out the ingredients.

Ross listened, then replied, "Three Vegetable Penne with Tarragon-Basil Pesto and Portobello Mushroom Salad."

Chandler paused, figuring out what the dishes really were. After doing so, he commented, "Wow, that sounds so fancy that maybe the critic won't notice that it tastes like crap."

"No, it looks really easy," Ross assured him. "I'll tell you what she's doing and you can follow along."

"All right," Chandler responded, not feeling "all right" in the least.

"She's starting with the penne," Ross began. "Okay, boil a large pot of water for the pasta."

Chandler paused, panicking. "And I do that how?"

A/N: Heh, couldn't resist giving a little shout-out to my favorite Food Network show. Yes, "30-Minute Meals" is a real show, and the host is actually Rachael Ray. The recipes mentioned were in the episode "No Meat, No Worries."