Mary and Daphne #199

As told to me, cuz I don’t remember any of it except the last bit …

“Mary … Mary, wake up.”

“Wuh.”

So already, tables turned. ‘Wuh’ is kind of a Daffy response to being woken up.

“Mary. C’mon, wake up.”

“What time is it,” she claims to have asked. I’ll trust her on it; sounds like a Mary question.

“You can’t die first,” she says I said. Sounds a little dramatic to me, and I’m not at all known for drama. I’m the opposite of a drama queen; I’m a … comedy … peasant. So … got that going for me.

“Daffy, what are you …”

“You can’t die first.”

“Daff … What are you doing?” She says she asked me that cuz she thought it was weird that I would wake up, issue a directive on the order of our deaths, and roll back over to go back to sleep. “Daffy … Daffy.”

“Shhh.” She says I shushed her. I would never shush her cuz I value my butt.

“Are you awake?”

“Don’t die first.”

“Daff … Daffy?”

“I already told you.”

“You’re having a night terror.”

That’s a thing I have a couple times a year. Mary is very good about them, especially since sometimes I scare the holy heccin crappin crud out of her with my unconscious ramblings and declarations.

“And,” she says she said to me and I’m highly skeptical it’s even a thing, “your diaper is soaked.”

According to Miss Mary I-take-such-good-care-of-you, she got off the bed and sauntered across the room – the sauntering part is me filling in the detail and if you saw the sexy tee shirt she went to sleep in and the way her butt kinda peeks out the bottom, you’d understand – to the closet and returned with a dry diaper. “You’ll feel better when you’re dry again.”

I’ve been informed by parties described as dubious that I was basically totally back to sleep by that point but that said party had no trouble manipulating my allegedly ‘cute little butt’ out of the diaper she put me to bed in and into the new diaper she put me back to bed in.

And not that I was awake for it, but I disagree with the word ‘soaked.’ Not a thing that happened, but if it did – which is a big if, possibly the biggest and iffiest if ever - it’s only cuz Miss Mary Okay-I-take-mostly-good-care-of-you didn’t change the diaper she put on me at movie time before we went to bed.

“You’re not listening,” I’m supposed to have said.

“And you’re not even awake.”

“You’re always saying that.”

“Where’s your mute button,” she said and I have zero trouble believing her. That’s her pet name for the pacifier she used to keep on my nightstand but stopped fighting me on every time I moved it to in my nightstand. So … I showed her with that. Yep; that’s a thing I did.

“There,” she says she said after patting my butt, tugging up my pajama bottoms, and putting that paci between my lips.

Now, as to the part I do remember …

“Good morning,” I said to Mary. It’s always a good morning waking up with her wrapped around me like I might escape if she loosed her grip. Big secret: I don’t even try to escape; I like it here.

“Good morning; where’s your mute button?”

“What the heck kind of good morning greeting is that?!?”