The Middleman | ongoing

15 | if you care about the sperm whales

15 | if you care about the sperm whales

Song: I'm Gonna Show You Crazy by Bebe Rexha

Depicted Above: Deepika Padukone as Leia Kar

|||

"Didn't know you were a Big Sean fan."

Ignoring Quinn, I waddled closer to him. I would have been able to walk properly had someone been able to carry out their shopping duties properly. Now, here I was, trying to adjust to the feeling of a diaper on my body—something I hadn't worn since what? Sixteen years in my life?

The material of the diaper bunched up with every step I took, restricting my movement, and I was, irrefutably, Donald Duck in the flesh.

So, this, is what being a Huggies commercial baby was like.

This shit was uncomfortable as fuck.

No wonder the kids probably got paid so much just to pretend to take their first steps. I could barely move because of how uncomfortable I felt.

Sighing, I take a step forward.

I really didn't want to wear this diaper, but it was the only thing I had on me at the moment. SMH.

I stare at an oblivious Quinn, directing mental daggers at him because of how uncomfortable my current situation was.

Incompetent headass.

The diaper was most probably a genuine mistake, but I was gonna milk this opportunity for what it was worth. If that meant going over the top and dramatizing the severity of this rather petty issue, then so be it.

"Quinn," I croon in such a saccharine tone I could possibly develop diabetes, "will you please hand me the pack you bought?" I maintain a pleasant expression to lull him into a false sense of security. He hesitantly but obediently hands it to me.

With the opened package of adult diapers cradled in my hand, I flip to the back side of the product where the information and details usually lay.

"You know, Quinn, America's literacy rate is 99.99 percent. I would never have thought that you fell in the .01 percent category, though," Quinn seems perplexed, but nevertheless I continue, "I think we need to go over our basic English right now."

He has no idea, does he?

The oblivious moron.

"Take a seat," I sweetly request, but I know it comes out as a menacing, authoritative command as I, myself, plop down on the couch and pat the seat next to me.

Unsure of what's to come, he follows directions as Kobe laps up water from his bowl, making eye contact with me and communicating through his twinkling eyes that even he knows Quinn is in the doghouse.

I grab Quinn's index finger, a gesture that somehow makes me feel quite uneasy, but regardless I position it on the lines of information on the back of the package, not letting my front of confidence falter in front of him.

I trace the first bullet point of information with his pointer finger as the words flow off my tongue effortlessly as if I was looking off teleprompter, "Superior absorbency and incontinence protection," I pause and glare at him as his countenance changes to one of wide eyes upon realizing what the information implies. I continue on, "with the convenience of pull-up underwear."