Mary and Daphne #151

I was expecting Sara to have laid out a pullup for me, but instead I found a sweater, leggings, fuzzy socks, and panties. Granted, they were my unicorn panties, but I could live with that. Even more shocking when I got downstairs was Mary – ahem, Sara – had two bowls, milk, and several choices of cereal on the table.

“Is this breakfast,” I asked because I’m almost never allowed to eat just cereal for breakfast. Something very accurate about them just being sugar (which I so don’t care about but certain persons I live with do).

“Don’t you look so pretty cleaned up. Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need help making your own bowl?”

“No … Is this breakfast,” I asked again.

“Yeah. You were expecting bacon and eggs?” Did she just imply I’m an entitled brat or something?

“Um, no. It’s just that I’m almost never allowed to just have cereal for breakfast.” True story. Sara’s doppelgänger is kinda serious about starting the day with protein. As in the-wooden-spoon-will-come-out-of-the-crock serious.

“Well, we’re in a hurry today, so let’s just not tell your mom. Are you gonna sit down and eat with me?”

“Yeah,” I said as a I took a seat and selected honey nut cheerios because they are the best ever, which come to think of it, may have something to do with how much sugar is in them.

Speaking of, “Sugar,” Sara asked me and slid the shaker toward me. O my god, what is even happening right now?

“Um, no … thanks. These are already sweet enough.”

“Wow. I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

Hey! I got that! Grr. “So where are we going today?”

“It’s a surprise, but we have to leave in ten minutes. We need to make a stop along the way.”

We took my mom’s car, and Sara showed just how overprotective she is. I went to get in the passenger seat, and she told me, “Nice try, but I don’t think so.”

“What?” I wasn’t even sure what I’d tried.

“In the back.”

“I can ride in the front. I’m … tall enough.” Really. Have been since I was (sigh) fifteen.

“I’m not so sure about that, sweetie.”

“But I am. I can … Fine.” So I got into the back. “Do I have to wear a blindfold or something?”

“What,” Sara asked from the front seat.

“Cuz it’s a surprise. Aren’t I supposed to wear a blindfold?” Not that wearing a blindfold in the backseat wouldn’t have made it look to other drivers like I was being renditioned or something, or that a blindfold wouldn’t make me dizzy.

“You can close your eyes if you want, unless that’ll make you carsick. Do you still get carsick at your age?”

“Why? How long of a ride is it?” Not that I get carsick (since I turned thirteen … sigh; I was a late bloomer, okay?), but it would be nice to know just how far from the safety of my home this Sara person was taking me.

“Not long.” She opened the navigation thingy and told it to take us to the nearest grocery store.

“I can give you directions.”

“I bet you can, sweetie.”

O my god, you are so patronizing! And Sara had allegedly lived there even longer than me. She should know the way to the grocery store … unless she’s some spoiled princess who’s never run an errand in her life. I bet that’s what it was. Ugh, so entitled. Pretty and entitled.

When we got to the grocery store, I went to open my door only to find – surprise! – Sara had turned the child safety lock on. “Just hold on a second,” she said as she fiddled with her purse.

“I’d like to get out now,” I said back with, yeah, a bit of a whine, because I was a little up to here with the patronizing crap (I’m pointing to my forehead now).

“Just a sec … Wait, do you have to go potty?”

“What? No.”

“Okay, okay,” she said and got out of the car, walked all the way around, and opened my door. “It’s okay if you do need to go potty. Just tell me.”

Excuse me? Tell her? Don’t think so. “I can go on my own, thank you.” I got out of the car, and the second my back was turned, she touched my butt! I mean, what the heccin hey!?! “Excuse you!”

“I was just checking to make sure you didn’t have an accident. You’re not always honest when you do.”

This is what happens when ‘Sara’ gets to contribute to the storyline! The backstories she writes always put me in the worst possible light. But I chose to just roll with it and try to push through to the fun part of the day, whatever that would be … if it would be. “But … That was was forever ago!”

“I know two years seems like a long time to you, but when you get older, you’ll understand that’s it not so long since the last accident you had when I was babysitting you last.”

Such a big eyeroll I think I strained something. “Whatever.”

“I really don’t like that word,” she told me. “C’mon, we only need one thing.” I decided to be the bigger person and let her hold my hand through the parking lot. In fact, it was actually me who was holding her hand. Really.

“What do we need here? Are we going on a picnic?”

“Silly, how could we go on a picnic when it’s this cold outside?”

“The arboretum,” I said with a strong, implicit duh. That’s where everyone around there goes during the winter. Duh.

We walked into the supermarket, and Sara beelined us toward … Crap! Really?

“We just need to pick up some Goodnites for our outing,” she told me like I was supposed to be grateful.

“I’m sorry, Sara. I didn’t know you need Goodnites.”

“Nice try, kiddo. They’re for you, and you know it.”

“No,” I said as she reached for the package. “I don’t need those.”

“Of course you do.”

“But I, um, don’t wear them during the day.” I’m not starting to freak out! YOU’RE STARTING TO FREAK OUT! THE WHOLE HECCIN STORE IS STARTING TO FREEK OUT! The store just down the road from my house. People I know might’ve seen us. “I don’t!”

“Sweetie, inside voice. What’s the rule about outings?”

“You lower your voice,” I said quietly cuz while yes, I may have been a little louder than I should’ve been, she was talking at a normal volume which is much too loud for the subject of pullups if you ask me and I did, so there. Heccin really.

Sara exhaled sharply through her nose while grimacing at me. “When we go on an outing longer than an hour, you need to be in pullups. That’s the rule.” Still talking at a normal volume. My o my, the store was crowded the day after Christmas.

“Not anymore. Not in, like, forever.”

“Daphne, your mommy reminded me of this rule just this morning before she left.”

“But I don’t want to wear pullups!”

“And I don’t want you to have an accident in your pants because you couldn’t hold it or you’re having so much fun you forget to go to the potty. Remember what happened last time,” she added. I’m guessing that was for the benefit of anyone who might’ve overheard it; call me paranoid, but I think Sara likes embarrassing me on purpose. Like, she like likes it, if ya know what I mean.

“But I don’t want them,” I tried again, this time more plaintively than whinily (there’s a difference – really!).

“It’s pullups, or we have your diapers in your bag. Which do you want?”

“You … You wouldn’t.” No reason to look over here, fellow shoppers, I’m just testing boundaries. Go about your business, please.And so that’s what was in the backpack she brought with us. Great. Just … great.

“Daphne Ann Schmidt ….”

O my friggin god! Using my full name in the middle of the store while talking about this and … O, hey lady also shopping in this aisle. How old’s your little one? Have a good Christmas?

“… You are trying my patience. If the next thing that comes out of your mouth isn’t a choice, I will take you to the ladies’ for another little talk about your behavior and then we’re going home. Do you want diapers or pullups?” Did she just verbally underline those words? How does that even work?

“Pullups,” I mouthed.

“What was that?”

“Pullups,” I squeaked.

“Thank you. Let’s go checkout.”

Lemme tell you, doing my absolute best to project a vibe that they were absolutely not for me as we checked out … didn’t work. Not that I think anybody knew, but I just couldn’t pull that vibe off. And lemme tell you, when we got to the car, I did some heccin hard pouting in the backseat. I was this close to fussing (I’m holding my thumb and forefinger really close together now).

There are two kinds of pouting. Kind #1 is what you do when you have unhappy feelings that just need to be physically expressed. Kind #2 is what you do when you wanna protest something and have literally no power to do anything other than just look sad and grumpy, so that’s what you do. I did both kinds in the car, simul-heccin-taneously. I don’t know if Sara could see me in the rearview or not, but if not, she guessed I was pouting.

“Cheer up, Daff,” she said all breezy like she hadn’t just told three aisles of grocery shoppers I needed pullups (which I don’t!), but o hey, don’t worry cuz if I find those embarrassing, I can always just wear my diapers. That I don’t even need! And she threatened to take me to the ladies’ room for a “little talk!” I’m too old to be spanked! And I’m way too heccin old to be spanked in public! And I’m way too heccin old for her to use such a transparent euphemism around other people! Who probably didn’t hear or notice, but not the heccin point! Urrrgggh! Really!

“I don’t wanna cheer up.” And okay, I know objectively that was a very childish thing to say, but if I’m gonna be treated like a little kid, then the people doing the treating are gonna hafta deal with me acting like one. I didn’t get a response, and ya know what? I was peeved enough to demand that someone acknowledge me, so I said it again louder for the people in the front named Sara. “I said I don’t wanna cheer up!” And I crossed my arms, kicked the floor with my heel, and added, “Hmmph!” for emphasis. Take that!

She responded with a sigh. An exasperated sigh. I – I! – did that! I do too have agency even if everyone is gonna try to decide everything for me. But also, got another response. Wow this is a lot of acknowledgement; like who even asked for any acknowledgement at all, is a thing I said in my head as she pulled over.

“Why are you pulling over,” I asked because I was, ya know, kinda curious why she pulled into some random strip mall parking lot. Just curious; not nervous or worried something very spanky and public was about to happen (that has happened to me in a parked car before but not in a busy parking lot … at least before dark). She turned the car off, and I had this little ball of regret in my tummy (and I don’t even know why. Really). I wasn’t even that bad! I think. She got out of the car, opened the back door, and sat down again next to me.

“Daphne,” she said in that same voice she was using while she was changing my diaper that morning right before she spanked me. Ruh roh. “You are not being the sweet girl I know you are from the last time I sat for you. Wanna try to tell me why?”

“Because I’m not a little kid anymore!” Oops. Said it like it I felt it, which is fine, but it entailed doing that raising my voice thing again. I don’t know why I kept doing that. I’m usually a very calm and collected person … or at least a quiet one … until pushed pretty darn far.

“I won’t tell you again about raising your voice to me. That is the last time today.” She made her do-you-understand face, and luckily for me, I did.

“Sorry.”

“I haven’t done or asked you to do anything you don’t do every day with your mom and dad. I don’t know why you thought today would be different, and I really don’t appreciate you trying to use me to get away with not following rules you don’t like.”

“But …”

“No, Daphne. No. Do not fib to me again and tell me the rules are different.”

“But … Sorry.” Admit defeat, regather forces for later offensive at a time and place of strategic advantage … if that opportunity ever presents itself, which it hasn’t in a very long time. “Are you gonna s-spank me again?” Make an uwu face, my brain said to me, so I did. And people say I don’t think before I act. Pshaw! Puh-shaw.

“No, sweetheart, I’m not going to spank you right now, but don’t think I don’t see through your puppy dog eyes.” Dammit. “I want to have a little talk so we can just clear the air. There’s still time to have fun together, but if you’re going to tell me no all day long, we might as well go home. If you’d rather just go home, we can do that and just watch a movie or something.”

“I won’t have to go to my room?”

“No, not unless you make a bad choice again. Or you can have your surprise. Which will it be?”

I wasn’t sure who was talking to me, Mary or Sara (they look a lot alike, okay? … And totally my type). Sara was giving me a chance to pick something more fun. Mary was giving me a chance to red light … or orange, cuz we added orange.

“I …” Heccin dammit this is so hard sometimes. “I want the surprise,” I told Sara. To Mary, I was saying, I trust you. At least I was trying to, but the instinct to preserve one’s own ego is not so easy to suppress. It’s so hard sometimes. True story.

“Can you tell me why?”

“Cuz I trust you and I wanna have fun like we used to. I’ll be good.”

“C’mere.” So weird thing: I could recognize Sara’s hugs in the dark. Felt very familiar. Weird, right? “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know. Thanks.”

“I know it must be very hard being a big girl in diapers.”

“Um, yeah, but do we have to keep talking about that?”

“I think you’ll feel a lot better if we do. What were you feeling in the store when you got upset?”

“That, uh, I don’t wanna wear pullups during the day. I don’t want anyone to see.”

“That’s understandable, but I don’t think anyone ever sees, do they?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like anybody ever comes up to me and says they didn’t see anything.” Powerful logic, that. Really. No, really. Go and try to prove a negative. Better philosophers than you have tried. Go and look for them now.

“That tells me that either no one sees or that if they do, they don’t make fun of you.”

“But even if they don’t make fun, they won’t think I’m cool anymore. I’m not one of the popular girls. I’m not, like, a loser either, but I will be if people find out and you said everything so loud.”

“I didn’t talk any louder than I normally do, but I understand why you’d be worried. If someone you knew did overhear, they might call you names like ‘diaper girl’ and ‘diaper butt’ and ‘pamper packer.’”

Gee, there’s only one person I know of who has ever called me those, and I told Sara the same thing I told that person. “I don’t! I never and I won’t ever.”

“Shh, honey. I’m just saying what they might call you, and they probably would think you fill your diapers cuz diapers are for that too, aren’t they?”

“Technically.” Hmmph!!!

“Yes, they are. But ya know what else they might do if they found out you still wear diapers?”

“They’re pullups. At least call them what they are.”

“Sorry. Sometimes I mix them up because pullups are just diapers that get pulled up instead of taped on. But you know what they might call you?”

“What?”

“’Daphne,’ ‘friend,’ ‘person I think is pretty cool.’ Because people are much kinder than it seems sometimes, and I think most people would be very understanding of your little problem.”

“Really?” Also I don’t have a problem, but the quicker I rolled with it, the sooner this horrible conversation that was giving me weird new feelings in lowest part of my tummy would be over … I hoped. And I did say I’m trust her.

“Really. But let’s do this today, okay? You don’t give me anymore trouble about your diapers, and I’ll make sure no one finds out or says anything mean to you if they do. And we’ll have one of the best days we’ve ever had together. Will you do that for me?”

Heccin unfair with her sincere attempt to get me to go with the flow cuz she wants to have fun with me and wants me to have fun with her and the unfairness of it all and the rampant sincerity and gentle kindness and the evident caring and stuff. Darn it! “Yes.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, but you hafta promise too.”

“I promise.” She sealed her promise with a hug that I returned.