She went to the dresser drawer and took out a pair of white underwear and said, “These are the only underwear I could find in your size, I hope you like them.”
“As long as they’re underwear, I’m sure I will,” I told her.
She said, “Let me put you up on this table so I can help you get dressed.”
I looked at the table she indicated and saw that she intended to use a baby’s diaper changing table to get me undressed. It was tiresome, but using the table would probably expedite the change into some decent underwear, so I nodded to indicate I agreed to its use. She put her hands underneath my armpits and hoisted me up to the level of the changing table, then sat me well back on the top so I wouldn’t fall. When she saw the sagging diaper between my legs, she realized that I had thoroughly soaked my diaper in the three hours she had been gone. She giggled and said, “Ohhhhh, you’re wet!”
“I’m not surprised,” I grumbled. I whined accusingly, “You were gone for three hours!”
“Did you know you had peed in your dydee?”, she asked innocently.
I could feel the trap closing in on me. If I said “no” she would tell me that I needed to wear diapers and if I said “yes”, she would ask me why I hadn’t asked to have my diaper changed the minute she came in. The truth was that I hadn’t known that my diaper was wet, but I didn’t want her to know that I had slipped so far into incontinence that I couldn’t tell whether I had wet my diaper or not. I decided that the best defense was a good offense and told her in a loud voice, “DON’T CALL THEM DYDEES!”
I continued more quietly, “They’re diapers. Please call them diapers, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed cheerfully and asked in a plaintive tone, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”, I mumbled as she pulled the soggy diaper down between my legs and lifted my feet to raise my bottom enough to pull the diaper out from beneath me.
“That you wet them,” she said in a childish sing-song.
“Because!”, I said, hoping that would be enough for her to stop the inquisition.
“Because why?”, she asked like a five year old in her silly sing-song voice.
“BECAUSE I DIDN’T KNOW THEY WERE WET! THAT’S WHY!”, I yelled.
“Oh,” she said, “That explains it.”