Diapered Sassy

wimpe:

Later that evening:

Honey, WHY did you have to humiliate me in front of your friends like that?  You could have kept it low key and just changed me back in the privacy of my bedroom, like I asked you to. Nicely.

I humiliated you in front of them because I wanted you to be embarrassed and shamed.  I’m sick and tired of covering for you, of trying to pretend that nothing’s wrong when EVERYTHING’S wrong.  As long as I make it easy for you, then you’ve effectively got no incentive to change.  But until you stop filling your diapers like a baby, I’m going to treat you like a baby, no matter where we are or else might be around.  If you don’t like it, then regain control, man up, and grow up.

You know I can’t help it.

No actually I don’t know that.  The urologists found nothing physically wrong with you that would cause incontinence, but every day, multiple times, your bladder and bowels just void.  I’m sick of it.

So am I!

I’m also sick of how you Facebook stalk all of my attractive friends.  At least you’re discreet enough and circumspect enough to not comment on too many of their pics or “like” everything they post or try to message them, but I know exactly what you’re doing, and I don’t like it.  If they knew what you’re doing, I guarantee they wouldn’t like it either.  Honestly at this point, I don’t even particularly care that you’re infatuated by them, they’re admittedly very cute, but leave their social media alone.  It’s creeping me out.

You’ve put spyware on my computer?

Yes.  This discussion is getting us nowhere.  It’s way past your bedtime, and you know how cranky you get when you’re out of sorts due to lack of sleep.  By the way, you need to put your snap-crotch onesies in the laundry hamper and not on your floor; I’m not your maid.

All right, fine.

And my sister will be by early in the morning to drop off the oversized playpen she got on Ebay for a bargain.  We’ll set it up in the living room.  You can watch Sesame Street or Dora the Explorer videos, or else play quietly with your toys and stuffed animals in it when you’re not getting fed or sleeping back in your bedroom.

That’s humiliating; I won’t do it!  There’s no need – I can walk, you know, and you don’t need to worry about confining me in a playpen to keep me from hurting myself like a real baby would.

I know, but like I already said, as long as you fill your diapers like a baby, you’ll be treated as one.  In all respects.  Which reminds me, I want you wearing your darling red, green, blue, white, and yellow floral-print onesie when she gets here since she’s the one who so thoughtfully gave it to you.  And since you’ll probably still be asleep when she arrives, I want you in it right now.

I HATE that thing with a passion!  It’s impossible to get into or out of without help, what with all those tiny buttons up the back.  And it’s patterns and colors and the lace-edged armholes and neckline are so … prissy.

I know, which is why I love it.  I really should make you wear it much MUCH more often … so from now on I will.  Since you’re being obstinate, you’ll be wearing the matching bonnet and booties and and clip-on pacifier as well.  Don’t give me that look young man, you brought this on yourself.  And if you continue to be pig-headed and drag your feet, then I’ll call over our 6′5″ 280 pound neighbor twins Mac and Mo to assist you and me in your dressing.  You know whatever I ask of them sweetly to do, they’ll do.

I’m still your husband; please don’t do this to me.

Already a done deal, babydoll. Now will you voluntarily let me dress you, or do I need to give Big Mac and Mighty Mo a friendly call to help out a lady in distress?

Okay.

Okay what?

Okay, I’ll get dressed.

That’s better.  You’d better be nice to my sister tomorrow, and thank her profusely and sincerely for all the practical and cute things she’s gotten for you!

Yes dear.