The suddenness of the question left me at a momentary loss for words. I couldn’t tell her that I had at minimum, one accident a day, often two or three, and sometimes more. What would she think of me? I didn’t want to get locked up in an institution.
“I’m eight,” I said, fighting to keep my voice from reaching a higher pitch. “I get to the toilet all the time.”
“And you don’t ever need to wear pull-ups or diapers?”
“What, no,” I replied, trying to sound firm. “I’m wearing panties,” I added, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I see,” the lady said.
I thought she was going to ask me to show her proof that I was wearing panties, but the lady proceeded to a question that left me unsure of how to answer.
“But what about Thanksgiving, did you have a bladder accident then?”
There was a look in her eye as if she already knew the answer to the question. But how could she have known? And why ask if she already did?