Babypants

I spoke with Vickie and Ian this morning, before they took off for another run to Tobie's. When I brought up BB's, they both laughed, and reminded me that one of their granddaughters is on the staff. On the whole, she likes working there, but she does believe that it's time to upgrade to a better quality diaper. In her own words, the current stock is "so nineties."

Happily, readers won't have to wait that long to discover the truth. This scene (44) takes place around 12:30-1:30 on Wednesday afternoon. Priscilla will learn what really happened in Viet Nam around two hours later in scene 47, and later that night, in scene 51, the Zeta Alpha Pi sorority will hear an edited version as Ian confronts his own fears in an effort to save the girls from repeating his mistakes. On a side note, watch for profound changes in the relationship between Sarah and Vickie. We are nearing the payoff for all of the work that went into building Vickie's character and personal history in a span of some 50 scenes. How do I wrangle an invite to the party at BB's?

I spent 23 years on my city's Planning & Zoning Commission in Minnesota. New Hampshire may do it a bit differently, but this is what I would expect. 1) Apply for a business license and tax ID number from the state (rejected, according to this post) 2) Make a fee based application for a Special Use Permit from the city. At this point, the owner will probably be informed that the business is a non-conforming C-I entity that would require a variance to be located in an R-1 zone. 3) Municipal building inspector would visit the property to determine whether it is in conformity with code, or needs to be updated. I would expect a major improvement for the driveway-- businesses that have customers on the premises are required by statute to lay out striped parking on the basis of a per square foot formula (about 6,000 in this case), with wider stalls for the handicapped (ADA requirement). If they will be serving food, the inspector will evaluate the premises against commercial standards. A good analogy would be operating a day care center out of the home. With overnight guests, the inspector will pay especial attention to ease of access and egress, especially on the basement and attic levels. 4) Referred to the Variance Committee for a public hearing. Legislatures throughout the US take a dim view of variances. Communities are expected to revisit their codes, and do so frequently. Whether the vote is aye or nay, the finding of the Committee is forwarded to Planning & Zoning. 5) Planning & Zoning review of proposal at public hearing. This is where commissioners review the finished package from the applicant and the Committee. Commissioners usually dive into the details. For example, I would require a 6 foot solid fence to surround the back and side yards, and blackout curtains across the front of the house to be kept closed at all times. We really do go into detail, doing the heavy lifting for a City Council that needs to focus on management and budget issues. 6) In my experience, the Council is pretty much a rubber stamp, which dives into the details only when specific problems in the application remain unaddressed as we forward it with our own aye or nay recommendation. Landscaping and lighting plans, for example, are often a work in progress, the details of which are often and cheerfully deferred to the City Engineer. It is an exacting process, and it is hard to tell how this application would fare without a great deal more information. In the normal order of things, much would depend on whether the community has already granted variances for other businesses such as in-home day care centers.

Have you researched this individual? Specifically, is he/she one of the few in private practice, or practicing inside a network? The network can be as large as an HMO, or as small as a couple of physicians who have incorporated. From the looks of it, your best shot is with a lone wolf.

This is very good advice. I would add that, if you are going to lie to a doctor, you should bear in mind that in this age of corporate, for profit medicine, there is a board in the background that listens closely to its attorneys when liability issues come into play. Doctors are not the independent agents that they once were, and you may therefore find it difficult to be taken on as a patient without supplying your medical history in general and the specifics for this surgery in addition. A refusal to do so on your part would be a red flag, but then, from what you've said your medical history would not warrant this surgery in any event. When you return, you should at least consider trying to hook up with a urologist before you actually need one. I've done battle with HMO boards more than once; it was not a happy experience.

Self-care?

We grow our own as well. A little pepper, then wrap it in bacon and toss it on the BBQ. Good eating!

A bit of both, I suppose. She is certainly flying under the radar, but this is in large part due to my desire to situate her between Sarah and Vickie. We see her interacting with them both, but we also see her looking at them from a distance and passing judgment on their words and actions, which she may or may not be interpreting correctly. So she is both a first and third person voice, and at times I use introspection to substitute her for the reader as a second person voice.

Got it in one! The late Majel Barrett was Gene Roddenberry's wife, and played several different parts across the various Star Trek series. Thanks for playing!

There are only 6 posts credited to this account. Did you check to see if the Patreon account is still up and running?

Quickie historical quiz: Julia is absolutely right. The five letter word for "freedom" in Swahili does indeed match the name of someone in the original Star Trek series. This would be which of the following: A. Majel B. McCoy C. Spock D. Uhura

In short, lie to your life partner? Enduring relationships between a husband and wife are three legged stools-- respect, trust, and love. When you start lying about things that have meaningful consequences for the marriage, you are opening Pandora's box.

Great catch, and thank you for the comment. I write stories with lots of characters and give many of them a narrative POV because I see myself as the play by play announcer for a team. Some characters are on the court or in the field, and others are riding the bench or sitting in the bullpen, but they all have stories to tell. Right now, Rita is in the bullpen; when the manager calls her to the mound will be the time to remind the fans that she has a particular role to play on the team.

CIRCLING THE WAGONS Easy money. Before she opened the door to Ian's classroom, Priscilla would have cheerfully bet a month's salary that Suzie Marshall and the PISS tribe would be waiting inside, predators on the hunt for fresh prey. But that would be a sucker's bet, and alas, there's never a sucker around when you need one. Sure enough. Suzie was camped out in the front row, and some fifty coeds were spread around the room. A few of the obviously puzzled male students were standing in twos and threes near the blackboard, looking for all the world like circled wagons awaiting the Indian attack. The rest had scattered, to end up sitting singly or in pairs-- a testament to Suzie's tactical genius. PISS must have got here first. It can't be coincidence that the girls are seated in a checkerboard pattern that makes it impossible for the boys to form a group. Suzie definitely knows how to conduct an orchestra … Ian's morning office hour had gone smoothly. Coeds entered his office at roughly five minute intervals, but none of them had reemerged with a resume in hopeful hand. Ian was done playing that particular game, and yet it was a testament to his people skills that none of the girls looked upset, never mind angry, when they walked out of his office. Sarah must have really let him have it last night. Some of the bruising on his bottom looked really nasty … Priscilla had bottle fed him shortly before noon, and then changed his diaper for the second time. She had used a moisturizing lotion to coat the bruises, and then doused his bottom liberally with baby powder. She reckoned that he was able to sit only because his diaper was so thick. I need to have a talk with her on Saturday night. Even in a BDSM relationship, there have to be limits … Strolling casually to the front of the classroom, Priscilla sat down next to Suzie, and the two exchanged ritual greetings. Suzie otherwise remained quiet, waiting for her to make the first move. “Suzie, Ian and I are both grateful for your help, and for the hours that the girls are spending on his behalf. He wants to show his gratitude for all the effort that's gone into fending off the headhunters, and we have both noted that your sorority has taken a keen interest in his students. What he has in mind is an end of term party hosted by your girls, with the boys in his classes being the guests of honor. If you can manage it, I'll make sure that campus police have other things to do that night, although I do want your word that you'll keep the racket down to a dull roar.” “The last final will finish at noon on Saturday the fifteenth. That gives me a little over two weeks to prepare … ample time. Thank you, Officer Canon-- and if you can ditch the uniform, you would be welcome to join us. Your presence would help me keep the lid on.” The two women shook hands, each hoping that this was the beginning of a new and more productive relationship. “We can flesh out the details on Saturday night,” Suzie added. “Do you think the Circle has an initiation ceremony? It's been a long time since my last ritual spanking! . . . . “How's your rear end holding up?” “Vickie???” “In the flesh. Hello, Mark, how's life treating you these days?” “Same old, same old. Six days a week at the office, and soccer practice on the seventh. When I want to have sex with Natalie, I have to make an appointment.” “It sounds like you need a break from the routine. How about drinks at our usual haunt sometime next week? I need your professional advice, and I would be happy to compensate you in the usual manner!” “Uh, Vic, you know that I'm a patent attorney, right? I mean, if you need a criminal attorney, I can give you a referral, but it's not my line of work.” “Cute, Mark, very cute, but it's your expertise that I desire … well, that and a close encounter of the first kind with your tight little ass.” “Intriguing all the way around. What in the hell could I possibly do for you … I mean, professionally speaking?” “One of my patients is a vet, with a remarkable gift. He speaks Vietnamese fluently, and he's been helping us treat other vets with serious mental health issues. The results have been spectacular. To make a long story short, with the help of one of our orderlies who has been able to contribute a few choice phrases of his own, Ian has cobbled together a tape of Vietnamese phrases-- the really obscene kind of stuff that guys heard walking the perimeter at night. We want to run it by the VA … see if they're interested in playing with it in their own facilities. But before we get there, I thought that it would be a good idea to protect Ian by taking out a patent on his work.” “It wouldn't be a patent, Vic. Somebody else already has the patent for both the recorder and the tape. What you're after is copyright protection for the contents of the recording itself, and if the content's obscene, that's going to be tricky. In '73, Miller versus California, the Supreme Court ruled five to four that obscenity cannot be copyrighted unless it demonstrably possesses literary, artistic, political or scientific value. I take it you would be claiming scientific value?” “You see,” Vickie laughed, “I told you that I needed your expertise!” “Victoria … my Dear, you have just taken a sledgehammer to 'same old, same old'. But let's do this on the up and up. Let me check my schedule ...” Mark began riffling through the pages of his desk calendar. “How about Wednesday next? Your office … say five to five thirty. Can you get the two principals to come along?” “Shouldn't be a problem. Professor Grady's work day ends at three, and Amos is second shift. I can have both of them in our office ready and waiting.” “Your source is a university professor?” “Yep, and a decorated, disabled combat veteran. A Major in Special Forces.” Mark whistled. “Talk about checking all the right boxes! Can't wait to see you again-- and afterwards the drinks will be on me!” . . . . Priscilla caught up with Ian as he was walking through the door, and hastily took him aside. “Suzie is on board with your idea of a party at the sorority house. She suggests the evening of the fifteenth, the Saturday that ends finals week. Why don't you invite her up to make the announcement?” “Will do … and thanks, Priscilla. I couldn't have pulled this off without your help.” Already a minute or two late, Ian hustled to the podium, where he nevertheless took his time laying out his notes to give the students who had been clustered at the blackboard a chance to find seats. Without exception, each ended up squeezed between two sorority girls. Finally, he looked up, and smiled at the throng. “As some of you know,” he began, “I was born, raised, and educated in southern California. Out there in the Land of the Lotus Eaters, we tend to do things a little differently. Roughly translated, that means that we party a heck of a lot harder than those of you who were born and raised up here on the frozen tundra. I have taught Honors seminars in beer joints, and graded exams while lounging on my surfboard. My last course this past Spring, I kept the A's and B's, and tossed everything else into the ocean. My department chair was seriously unhappy about that.” Ian grinned mischievously at his class. “Stan's really serious about environmental pollution, but then he lives in Beverly Hills, and has never seen Hong Kong's harbor or the river that runs through Saigon, never mind the somewhat colorful hotels that I've been known to frequent in Saharan Africa.” Chuckles erupted around the room, and a few students clapped their hands in approval. “Anyway, boldly going where no professor here in flyover country has apparently gone before, I have asked Miss Marshall and the young ladies of the Pi Iota Sigma sorority to host a party on your behalf to celebrate the end of term-- but of course we do need your approval. Ladies ...” Ian nodded in the direction of the only two women actually enrolled in his class … “And Gentlemen, what sayest thou?” Whatever Ian was about to say next was drowned out in a cacophony of enthusiastic albeit largely inarticulate noise. Still, he took advantage of the chaos, walking over to extend his hand and help Suzie to her feet. Arm in arm, he guided her to the podium., then stepped aside to allow her to address the throng. Looking around the room, it was obvious that he had taken the sorority girls as well as his own students completely by surprise. “It looks like everyone wants to party,” he whispered into Suzie's ear. Suzie's only response was to wrap her arm around Ian's waist, and rest her head for a moment on his shoulder. “Thank you, Professor,” she finally replied. Suzie was beaming as she gazed out at the assembly, but she was thinking that Ian was a dream come true. “The next time that I'm hauled into the Dean's office to hear another tiresome lecture on the outrageous lifestyle being celebrated up and down Sorority Row,” she began, “I'll encourage the Dean to seek out more faculty born, raised and educated in southern California-- men and women who, like Professor Grady, understand that life's lessons are not taught in classrooms but in the surrounding community! Finals end at noon on Saturday the fifteenth … we'll begin celebrating the end of term at seven, and you are all invited!” The room erupted with a roar that drowned out whatever Ian or Suzie wanted to say next. . . . . Hanging up the phone, Vickie was still debating her next move. First things first. Standing up, Vickie reached around to check for wet spots on the back of her pants. She knew that she hadn't messed, but she had released a few tentative squirts of pee during her late morning session with a middle aged professional woman who had suffered a nervous breakdown at work. She had been plugging away in her cubicle, dealing with the latest disaster forwarded to her desk by an incompetent sales rep out in the field, when she had suddenly stood up and started screaming that the missiles were incoming and they were all going to die. The corporation's resident nurse had given her an injection to put her out of her misery, and an ambulance had brought her to the ER. After the requisite lab draws, she had been shipped to the seventh floor. Vickie sadly shook her head as she thought about the lab report. The cortisol reading was off the charts, and the woman was seriously overweight. She needed less caffeine and a great deal more exercise. Don't we all. Vickie knew that she was procrastinating. Knowing that Mark regularly ate lunch at his desk, she had used calling him as an excuse to avoid going down to the cafeteria with Rita, but it was really Sarah who she wanted to avoid. The three of them always dined together, but Vickie wasn't ready to deal with clever allusions to her diapered state, and at all costs she wanted to put off her next visit to Sarah's office as long as possible. At least two baby bottles awaited her, and she had no illusions about what another sixteen to eighteen ounces of breast milk would mean for her diapers. But Vickie was hungry, and so she made a spur of the moment decision to venture across the road and treat herself to something sinful in the delicatessen. A reuben, a bit of potato salad and a large pickle would do her nicely. An iced tea also sounded good. Retreating to the locker room, Vickie donned her winter coat, and then headed for the elevator. She got off at the first floor, and walked to the main exit. The deli was directly across the road, and she noted with satisfaction that the snow had been beaten down by the steady stream of doctors and nurses who had made the trek over the last hour. There's only so much cafeteria food that the human animal can be expected to eat! , . . . Julia took another sip of the steaming hot coffee, and sighed contentedly. Her morning had gone exactly as she had anticipated. She had waited for the Lullaby Diaper Service truck at the first stop where the driver would be leaving fresh diapers on the porch, but no thief had shown up to haul them away. By eleven, she had watched and waited at three additional stops, with the same negative results. Not knowing whether she was under observation or not, she had decided to keep with her original plan and call off the surveillance. She had taken her time driving to the office, trying to time the lights so that anyone following her would have to run a red to keep up. She had seen nothing unusual in her rear view mirror. At the office, nothing had changed since her last appearance. Pat was still salivating over the latest issue of Hustler, and Andrew was attacking a crossword puzzle. He looked up when she walked through the door. “Happen to know the Swahili word for 'freedom', he asked; “five letters.” Julia shrugged off her coat and dropped it on an empty chair. Her purse came next. “Think Star Trek,” she enigmatically replied. Sitting down at her desk, she fed a sheet of paper into the typewriter, and got to work. She logged the first day's activities on the Lullaby case in thirty minute blocks, starting at five thirty in the morning and closing out twelve and a half hours later. Julia did not minimize how badly she had been outwitted, but she would still charge Spats Belmondo nine hundred, thirty seven dollars and fifty cents for her time. She appended a separate expense account, billing what amounted to nothing more than the cost of running her beater all over town. At thirty-eight cents per mile, Tuesday's outing would add another nineteen dollars and seventy-six cents to the total. Julia made a mental note to call Harriet and let her know that her uncle would need to fork over more dough. Win, lose or draw, she reckoned that another thousand would cover Wednesday's charges. Glancing at her watch, Julia decided to head downstairs and grab a bite to eat before heading over to the hospital. She had two very different subjects to discuss with Doctor Rita Stevenson, and she was not at all sure how to broach one of them. . . . . Vickie knew the drill: shout out your order, listen for a grudging acknowledgment, fork over money to a cashier who somehow knew exactly what you had coming, and then mill around waiting for that magical moment when your food materialized somewhere on the long counter separating the sandwich kings from their customers. That's when the fun began. At lunchtime, the deli was always crowded, so you grabbed a seat wherever you could find one. And if you couldn't … well, that's what long counters were really all about. Scanning the room, Vickie spotted Julia Canon sitting at a corner table nursing a coffee, and the seat opposite her was vacant! As the two women recognized one another, Julia gracefully gestured for Vickie to join her. “Need a respite from cafeteria food?” Julia didn't know Vickie's dining habits, but it was a safe bet that she regularly ate lunch in the bowels of the hospital. “Hump days are the worst,” Vickie lamented. “This is my port in the storm. But what brings you here?” “Oh, my office is directly overhead.” “Really? “Aardvark, Platypus, and Twinkletoes, Attorneys at Law? What … do you play Paul Drake for the Perry Mason trio?” “Actually, I'm Twinkletoes … and yes, I'm a practicing attorney as well as a licensed PI.” “Wow! That must lead to some interesting conflicts of interest. But you know what's really funny? I just got off the phone with an attorney downtown-- Mark's an old friend specializing in patents and copyrights, and he's going to help me figure out what to do with a tape that Ian … that Professor Grady has put together to help us treat vets who brought Viet Nam home with them. He's been helping us the same way that he's been helping you.” “Mark Chambrey?” “You know him?” “We've consulted a few times. Our firm specializes in divorce, but the PI work has led me down some pretty strange paths.” “Like chasing a gang of diaper thieves?” Vickie laughed; the idea that people were running around the Twin Cities stealing diapers off of people's porches in the dead of winter sounded like something straight out of Monty Python. “How's it going? Any new leads?” “No. I've hit a dead end. After lunch, I thought that I'd wander across the road and try and talk with your Doctor Stevenson. A psychiatrist might see something that I've missed, and my husband thinks highly of Rita.” “Oh, that's right; Priscilla said something about your husband being a cop, and Rita spends far too much time in courtrooms.” “Um,” Julia mumbled, taking refuge in her coffee cup. “Well, if you're not in a hurry, you can walk over with me, and I'll make the introductions.” “No hurry. And if at all possible, I'd like you to join us. There's something else that I need to talk about … something that concerns you both.” . . . . “Iced tea,” Rita mused. “Are we ahead of the game trading caffeine for sugar?” “Baby steps,” Sarah answered as she stirred the long spoon in her glass. “Less coffee, more tea … less sugar, more lemon? Let's face it; this isn't going to be easy because were addicted to the stuff.” Rita and Sarah were sharing lunch, with Vickie notable for her absence. The three of them had been so tight for so long that, when one of them went missing, it was remarked upon by their colleagues. Every time Rita looked around, puzzled looks awaited her. “Do you get the feeling that we're fish in a fish bowl,” she whispered to Sarah. “One of the Three Mouseketeers is AWOL,” Sarah whispered in return. “Where the hell is Vickie?” “Don't know,” Rita shrugged. “She said that she had to make a phone call, and then she disappeared. Maybe she's avoiding us.” “More like avoiding the bottles of nice, warm breast milk that are waiting for her upstairs. No matter. I'll feed her when I change her.” “So you were serious about that?” “Absolutely. Rita, do the math. If all three of us lactate, we'll produce far more milk than Ian can consume and as long as there's alcohol and caffeine in our systems, we can't donate the surplus to the milk bank. So, it's either throw it out, become teetotalers, or drink it ourselves. I suspect that we'll all be drinking it in the end, but right now I want to start with Vickie. She's a loose cannon, and we've got to get her under control. The diapers will keep her chaste, but her drinking poses a much bigger challenge. I don't know what to do about it.” Rita slowly nodded her head in agreement. “Vic's a people person, and the very qualities that make her such a fine therapist are the ones that most threaten our new household. Now that she's in diapers, I want to keep her there-- but I don't want to undermine the high regard in which our staff hold her. That's why I think it's best for me to diaper her in my office, rather than having her run downstairs several times a day to see you. And separate and apart from the drinking, I love the idea of bottle feeding her; it will reinforce my authority as her 'auntie Rita'.” Rita tapped the tabletop decisively. “Okay, let's go ahead and convert the third bedroom into a nursery. I'll schedule a crew to set up Vickie's crib late this afternoon, and it will only take them a few minutes to move Ian's crib and the changing table. Her furniture can all go into storage; really, the only thing she'll need out of her apartment is her cosmetics and clothing.” “Don't forget the restraints … full sets for both cribs. When they're naughty, they're going straight over our knees … I assume that you're good with spanking, even paddling them?” “Absolutely.” “And then it's straight into their cribs, with locking mittens, locking pacifiers and full restraints … Mom's got a catalog from a place out in California that I plan to give a lot of business!” . . . . Going upstairs, Rita made a detour to Sarah's office, pausing just long enough to collect a key to Vickie's diaper cover, several bottles of breast milk, and a sampling of the thinner Lullaby diapers. It only took her a couple of minutes to grab a diaper pail from her department's stockroom, along with several of the thick hospital diapers that Vickie would now be constantly wearing whenever she was not on shift. Their shelves were also well stocked with vinyl pants, pins, powder, and everything else that the staff needed for their heavily diapered patients in the secure ward. For the time being, the rug in Rita's office would have to double as a changing mat. Rita smiled as she took stock of the locking mittens, feeding gags, and heavy restraints that were stashed in various bins around the room. Equipping the nursery at home for two babies would be no problem at all. . . . . “This is a secure facility,” Vickie explained, “so the door can only be opened with a six number code. Staff can enter it on this pad ...” Vickie paused while she entered the number … “Or you can use the telephone. A member of staff will check you out ...” Vickie pointed at the camera high on the wall that covered the entry … “Press a button, and presto, you gain admission.” She opened the door when she heard the lock buzz, and checked to make sure it closed properly once the two of them were inside. “The secure ward has a similar door, but with a different code. We've never had a patient escape, although a few have tried.” “I'm impressed,” Julia remarked; “modern jails have a lot more doors, but the underlying principle is the same.” “Let's meet the boss,” Vickie said as she knocked on Rita's open door. “We've got company … Detective Julia Canon, also known as Twinkletoes, Attorney at Law … Doctor Rita Stevenson, the senior charge nurse responsible for our little corner of the world.” Vickie dropped into her usual chair, and gestured for Julia to take the other seat. “It's a pleasure to meet you,” Julia began. “Herb, my husband, speaks highly of you. The police department values the work that you've done over the years, especially in the courtroom.” “It's been a while since your husband and I last crossed paths,” Rita smiled. “Is Herb still riding a desk?” “Yes, and he's still unhappy about it. He complains constantly about his waistline.” “Don't we all,” Rita laughed. “Anyway, what can I do for you?” “A couple of things. Monday, I was hired by the owner of Lullaby Diaper Service to track down a gang of thieves following their delivery truck around town. The thieves are stealing the deliveries off the porch, which is where the driver leaves them when there's no one home. Yesterday I trailed the truck, and explored the neighborhoods around the houses most at risk, looking for unusual activity. I was thorough, and saw nothing untoward. As it happened, the thieves only hit one house, and it was the one at which I took the most elaborate measures. Obviously, they spotted me, and went out of their way to rub my nose in it. So, they're smart and well organized, and I'm hoping that the two of you can give me an insight into their mindset. I'm setting a trap for them at your Professor Grady's apartment this afternoon, but if they don't show up, I'll be at a dead end.” Rita and Vickie simply looked at one another. Each had dealt with kleptomaniacs in the past, but diaper theft had been limited to the occasional troubled individual ripping off neighborhood clothes lines. Brassieres, panties … the public at large had no idea how common this sort of opportunity theft really was. “Well,” Rita began, “if you were dealing with an individual, I'd say that it's someone with a compulsive diaper fetish … someone who's too ashamed to go to a medical supply store and simply buy what he needs.” “He?” “Paraphilic infantilists are rarely female,” Vickie noted. “It's a guy thing.” “But you're sure that you are dealing with two or more people?” “Positive … and at least two vehicles, probably using car phones to stay in communication. A spotter, and the actual thief.” “Hmm.” Rita considered the possibilities. “Employees with a beef, past or present?” Julia emphatically shook her head. “It's a small company, but it's well organized and well managed. Nothing leaps out of the company files, and I've gone through the last ten years. And there have only been three written complaints; the most recent is seven years old.” Vickie repeatedly tapped her lips with her index finger, a nervous habit that only surfaced when she was deep in thought. “With Christmas approaching, ordinarily I'd say that it's a team hoping to grab expensive gifts that they can pawn or resell. But there's no aftermarket for diapers, so it has to be something else. A prank, maybe? An elaborate joke at the owner's expense? Who owns Lullaby?” “His name is Vincent Belmondo, although he's more commonly known as Spats Belmondo.” Julia could see from the blank looks on both their faces that Rita and Vickie had never heard of the gangster. “Think the Al Capone of the Twin Cities.” “Al Capone deals in diapers?” Vickie was beginning to think that the joke was on her and Rita. “Apparently it's a very profitable business. Lullaby services nursing homes throughout the Metro, in addition to residential customers like your … uh … like your boyfriend.” Julia was still trying to come to grips with the fact that the two psychiatrists were happily in love with the same guy, and willing to share him with still another member of the staff, to whom he would soon be married. Different strokes for different folks … “Anyway, the thieves have picked on the wrong guy. If I strike out, Spats will keep looking, and bad things happen to his enemies. Shallow graves in the woods north of Ely … wood chippers … a tasty snack for pigs on a farm down in Iowa … bad things.” “So we're dealing with adults, and neither sex nor money seems to be the motivating factor.” Vickie was still thinking out loud. “Could it be a dare … maybe an initiation of some kind? Have you checked to see if there are any other weird items being stolen this way? Maybe there's a list of things that have to be stolen and handed over in order to join the secret society. When I was rushing my sorority, we had to go out and milk a cow, then bring the milk back for the cat that was running around the house. It was gross, but we did it.” “A sorority.” Julia blinked as the memory came rushing back. “It's odd that you should say that because the only false note yesterday was a pair of college aged girls who were definitely in the wrong part of town when our paths crossed. They were so out of place that I took down their license plate and had my husband run it through the DMV. Sure enough … the car belonged to a nineteen year from New Ulm named Tippi Bjornsen.” “Tippi?” Rita could only shake her head. “With a name like that? If she ever decides to shoot her parents, I'll testify in her defense.” “Doctor Robinson, you were in a sorority. Is it possible for some kind of ritual … an initiation or something like it … to occur this late in the term?” “Not to my knowledge, but keep in mind that I graduated twelve years ago. The person you need to talk to is my arch rival, Suzie Marshall. She's the Pi Iota Sigma house mother.” “Priscilla has mentioned her … in fact, Priscilla is planning to give Suzie a ride to Doctor Stevenson's house on Saturday night to join this circle of yours. The two of them have a complicated relationship, which is par for the course between campus cops and the house mothers and fathers on the Row.” “Missus Canon ...” “Julia, please.” “Thank you,” Rita continued. “And we're Rita and Vickie. We don't stand on a lot of ceremony around here.” “We try and establish a rapport with our patients,” Vickie explained. “Our titles simply get in the way, so we don't use them. We leave that sort of thing to the jerks down in the surgery suites.” “And you should join us,” Rita finished as she fished out a business card that had her home address and telephone number hand written on the back. “Saturday nights are when we let our hair down.” “I'd like to come, but you might want to change your mind when you hear what else I have to say.” Once again, Rita and Vickie silently exchanged looks. “Go on,” Rita finally said. “It's about your boyfriend … Professor Grady.” Again, Rita and Vickie remained silent, waiting for the detective to continue. “How much do either of you know about him? How much does Sarah … his fiancee … know?

There's no set piece answer to a question such as this. I should imagine that the younger you are, the more difficult it is to raise the subject. But as you get older, it becomes more and more likely that the person you are involved with has health issues of his or her own. Arthritis has a way of leveling the playing field for all of us, and there are things far, far worse than arthritis or incontinence that people may have to contend with. If you want to get some perspective on this, in bad weather join the mall walkers in your community, and look at the people surrounding you. It can be humbling to realize that there are people dealing every day with problems that are a much greater challenge than incontinence.

Correct! And thanks for playing.

Quickie historical quiz: Ian does not want to end up as a segment on Sixty Minutes, but in Viet Nam he did cross paths with a CBS war correspondent who later joined the crew. Was this: A. Dan Rather B. Harry Reasoner C. Morley Safer D. Mike Wallace

As part of your planning, have you paid a visit to the Emergency Room of a local hospital? I was in one on a lazy midweek morning this summer to get stitches on a wound, and was there for five and a half hours. This was in Minneapolis, and here as throughout the country, hospitals are being overwhelmed by illegals who use the ER's for ordinary care, never mind emergencies. An appointment for a specialty care physician with my provider is now running six weeks minimum, and in some specialties is averaging three and a half months. You should plan on drawing more heavily upon the medical care system after this procedure, so have you researched this issue and developed a game plan to secure appropriate care, especially since it appears that you will not have a written medical history that explains your condition?

Beautifully stated. Many thanks.

From Ian's POV, the problem isn't that Sarah doesn't make her desires clear. It's that she won't listen. So, he's decided to keep forcing the issue. This is the key question, which Vickie so far has missed. She will get there, but it will involve rethinking her most basic assumptions about Ian (coming soon). As we shall later see, Ian brought a mountain of guilt home from Viet Nam, but it didn't begin to impact his behavior until he came to terms with the fact that all the lies he told Emily, his second wife, led directly to the destruction of their marriage. This is now three years in the past, and socially he has been a hermit ever since. His professional life both at home and abroad has largely been on autopilot, so failed to trigger the episodes that we have seen in these pages. But Sarah has brought him out of his cave, and put him in a situation where he feels that he has to tell more lies, which puts him on the same path that destroyed his earlier marriage. His seizures in this sense are indeed a safety valve, and have rightly persuaded everyone to keep him away from making meaningful decisions while Vickie figures out how to get him safely to confront his guilt. But Ian is inching towards a different solution: letting go of the lies, telling the truth, and praying that love will yield forgiveness. Watch for the next change in the tabs below the title. This will hint at what Vickie has missed, and where this aspect of the story will go. It's ironic that the Wall Street Journal currently has a write-up on this very topic. Now that Ian has signed a D/s contract, Sarah is plotting to get Vickie to sign one as well. We can all see that Sarah is controlling, but what do you think? Is she crossing the line into outright sadism?

Overflow. You are going to need to work with a skin care specialist afterwards. In my experience, cloth diapers are a better fit for stress and urge, but the wicking action in disposables make them the better choice for overflow. Another problem with cloth is that they make you more vulnerable to yeast infections, which are dangerous, and difficult to shake. When you get one, you will definitely need prescription level topicals to ward it off, which means laying this all out for a urologist with a skin care nurse on his/her team. When the moment comes, please be truthful with the physician in question. As other have stated here, any urologist who takes a look will know very, very quickly the scale of the procedure you have had performed.

What kind of incontinence do you wish to experience? Stress? Functional? Urge? Overflow? Mixed? Have you spoken with the medical team down there to determine which of these categories you will be entering? It would be tragic if you wanted X, but came out of this in Y.

Thanks for some great questions. To take this one first, he just doesn't know where to light the match. But he is carrying a matchbook with him at all times.

It's puzzling that Mommy would encourage Clark to crawl around on hardwood floors. Take it from someone who has been reduced to crawling by severe sciatica attacks on more than one occasion: this can cause real issues for the patella, which is not what a baby crawls around on, in a very short order of time. And this has been going on for months? The other thing that one would expect to have kicked in by now is simple boredom. The adult brain requires neural stimulus, and it doesn't sound like his brain is receiving the necessary input. As the story reads to date, what Ava should be seeing after so many months is an altered personality, not a young adult who is caught up in role playing. Does mommy see any changes in Clark? Is mommy experiencing any changes in herself, and if so, is she aware of them? Does Neve see any changes in either or both of them as this relationship grinds on? The relationship has a static feel at this point, almost as it they are both treading water, and it's hard for me to see how either Clark or Gabrielle would find it emotionally satisfying. Since it's a well constructed story, I'm assuming that we're missing a lot of down and dirty in their day to day lives. Are you planning on giving us "a day in the life," so to speak?

This name may already be in use. Certainly, there is a screen name close to my own in use.