In a thrice, she had cleaned me up and was applying a soothing cream to my sore bottom. I closed my eyes in appreciation as the pain began to disappear. The next thing I knew, she had slipped a diaper beneath my bottom and was pulling it up between my legs. I opened my eyes in surprise as she pulled the tabs tight on the Cushies she was dressing me in and set the velco tabs in place. I was being diapered!
“Noooo…..Ginnnna!….no…diapraaaaa!”, I pleaded.
“You promised!”, she accused, “You said that if you had diaper rash, you would wear diapers!”
“Buuuc…Ginnna!”, I pleaded thickly.
“No buts! You agreed and that’s that!”, she said with determination.
She looked at me curiously and said, “What’s wrong with your tongue? It sounds like you can’t talk this morning!”
“Thanks for noticing,” I thought and said, “Forrrk….a…hurk…maseelk…wi…ma..forrrk!..remmemmberr?”
Gina looked puzzled for a moment, her face cleared as she figured out what I had been trying to say and she said, “Fork! Oh, now I remember! You stuck your tongue with your fork last night, didn’t you?”
“Yeesss…Ginnnna!”, I answered.
Gina gave me a sympathetic look and said, “Try not to use your tongue, okay? Maybe it will get better if you let it rest.”
“Uh-huh,” I answered.
She took me into the kitchen and insisted on spoon feeding me my oatmeal. I couldn’t stop her. My tongue was too swollen to argue with her and my bottom was so sore it was utter agony to move. I let her feed me my breakfast and wipe my mouth when she was done. I was too depressed to care. In one fell swoop, I had been reduced to talking gibberish and wearing diapers. Gina’s chocolate cake had done its work well.