“This is my other daughter, Patricia. She has multiple sclerosis, it’s a disability that causes her to have some difficulty control her body and movements.”
Multiple what? I didn’t have any idea about what that meant. The girl gave me a meek, disjointed wave at me. I wanted nothing to do with her.
“I thought they might like to play with each other,” the woman continued.
“Of course,” Elaine, said, as if she somehow had the right to decide what I was and wasn’t going to do.
“That’s so nice,” the woman said. “It’s such a pleasant surprise for Patricia to be able to meet someone like her.”
I wasn’t anything like her. Just having a diaper on didn’t make mean there were any other similarities. Why did the fact that I wore diapers have to be the defining aspect about me?
“I’m not a retard like her!”