Changing Table

And then it was my turn. More dignity here. Style! I mounted the table like a princess going to martyrdom, raised my nightie at the rear and laid myself back elegantly. My pose was rudely shattered when Gran, strong as ever, picked me up by the ankles and slid a nappy under my bottom, and followed it a moment later with a daub of ointment, which she spread firmly about me, followed by a cloud of powder. My legs were parted, and the front of the nappy appeared at the bottom of my vision before it descended again to meet the sides coming around my waist. Pins were drawn from the bar of soap, and I was secured, quite firmly, first by the pins themselves and then by the double click as the heads were locked down. I thought this was supposed to make it impossible for me to remove the nappy, but the thought only gave me a smile. I closed my eyes and relaxed as the familiar ritual proceeded.