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Dummy? “Look Jason, you know you need it. How it relaxes you AND I know you’ve relied on it to get you through some tough times. So, all I’m saying is don’t give it up just because of your age. It would be silly to throw away something useful that’s got you to where you are now.” Mum was making sense, she always did. I’d had my dum-dum, sorry dummy, since a child and throughout those years it had helped me stay calm when I thought I’d worry myself to death. She’d always insisted that the calming influence of sucking on a dummy was the best way to deal with stress and so, despite growing up, whenever I was faced with an anxious decision mum would produce one and leave it at the side of the bed to use ‘if needed’. It’s amazing she’s able to find one that fit but how right she continues to be because the power of a little sucking still works. Where some of my school friends spiralled into early dabbling with drugs, drink or depression, I was still gaining comfort from a tiny piece of plastic with a silicon teat. Mum always had one at hand but, when she saw me struggling and because of my reticence to rely on it as I grew older, would dig it from its hiding place and make sure I knew it was available. Its magical appearance made me less shy about using it. Yes, I know it sounds stupid and makes me sound like a little kid and I suppose that’s why I’m hesitating to use one now. I’m eighteen and just about to start my first job and to say I’m terrified would be an understatement. It’s a huge leap from the relative ease of school to being at a place where responsibility goes without saying. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a job that I wanted, in a company where I wanted to work and where I’d be using my limited skills in an area where I’m comfortable, but, I’m still worried I might fail. The reason for this sudden stock-take is that now I have a job I feel I should be more adult and thinking that being reliant on a dummy is a childish throwback so should be something I’m long past. Nevertheless, mum’s insistence that she’d rather see me with a dummy in my mouth than a can of beer or a ciggy has kept me focused on her reassuring words. # Mum and I are very close so I listen to what she has to say and she’s never steered me wrong. Of course she smothers me in affection and even at eighteen still does my laundry and irons my clothes. I’m lucky to have such a parent (dad having died when I was eight), who still wants to lavish all her love on me as I grow up. Since dad died mum hasn’t needed to work. She’s taken the occasional part-time job but was always home to greet me on my return from school. Money wasn’t a problem as she had dad’s insurance and an inheritance that kept the two of us fairly independent of the need to work. However, I didn’t want to continue at school and when this job came up and I applied, I was so excited when they said I’d got it. Mum was proud of me as well but told me not to rush into anything. But there was an overpowering need, in my head at least, that I just wanted to contribute even though I didn’t have to. I know at my age I should be independent and I am, mum never puts restrictions on me and I’m allowed to be myself but she’s never stopped caring and although wants me to make my own decisions, she’s always there with words or actions or directions that help the situation. “Mummy’s boy” is what some people may think, and I can’t say they’re wrong because we are very close. I think most people are who have lost someone significant become even closer but perhaps that’s just my experience. I know mum is protective without being over protective. As I say, I’m eighteen, about to start a job but really I’m at that stage in my life where I want to be adult but then think I prefer not to have to make decisions. I’m five feet, seven inches tall, not very muscular and in some ways, the testosterone some of my school mates have coursing through their veins has yet to course too far around my body. Having said that, mum never complains, she lets me be me and thankfully, she quite likes who I am despite all the anxiety I bring to every situation. I’m a worrier. I’m lucky because some of my mates have a horrendous time with their parents and can’t wait to get away from their clutches at the earliest opportunity, or are full of antagonism because things aren’t going their way. It’s not like that with mum because I’ve never felt I was in competition with her. She leaves me to get on with my own stuff if I need the space but she’s there with a comforting cuddle if that’s what she feels I need. I should say mum always seems to know exactly what I need. So, over the years, a dummy has proved to be an effective way of keeping me from getting too uptight. However, at eighteen, should I be relying on such a childish item? # Mum said that I had my dum-dum until I started school at five years old and only spasmodically from then until I started senior school and had homework, which apparently I got very stressed about. During that period she said that I only used one if I was ill or having trouble sleeping. So from being five until eleven years old I rarely used one... as far as I remember. Mind you, mum has been very non-committal about my recollection on this point. However, as far as I remember, there has always been a dummy available. Well, mum always had one available, as she thought it was a salve to whatever was ailing or upsetting me. She always knew it was time to resurrect my dum-dum because I’d be gnawing on my fingernails, chewing the end of pens or occasionally sucking my thumb. Apparently, once I started to worry about things at school, I worried about everything... and every little thing seemed to cause some anxiety. There were times during that period where I know she’d slip it between my lips as I dozed and I’d automatically just nurse without realising I was doing so. Mum said it was a sure fire way of helping me cope with whatever was going on in my head and any restlessness often departed under its soothing influence. That’s part of the reason mum thinks it’s silly to lose the benefits of it now. Being eighteen and about to start work she says is probably the time when I could well need it the most. She’s worried I would start fretting over its loss as well as anything else that might crop up at work to make me... well... unbelievably fretful. # Now, as you might have guessed, I’m a pretty anxious type of guy. I fret over many things both big and small though I have no idea why. It’s not like I’m in charge of events that shape the world, or even my home, but still I can get in a state over whether I’ve turned the gas off, unplugged the TV at night or worried about some news story that I can do nothing about. Let alone worry about all the exams and tests I’ve taken at school over the years. I have to say that these last few terms at school have been OK, except when exams were planned, but just the thought of such anxiety-driven things could set me off and into a spiral of worry that has nothing to do with what the original anxiety was about. Mad eh? I needed my dummy every night when I revised and became troubled I wouldn’t know enough. That was despite the fact I always got reasonable grades and was pretty okay in tests. That didn’t stop me worrying all the time and thankfully, a soothing dummy helped me through it all. Though not whilst I sat the exams, that’s when the end of my pen acted as a substitute - I chewed through about a million of them. Although, when I think about it, I wasn’t the only one sucking on their pen during exams so perhaps many others had access to a dummy away from school... when needed? # Whilst I’m being honest, also during those frantic times of revision, I needed a little bit of help elsewhere. Mum noticed that I’d have occasional leaks whilst I slept so required me to wear GoodNites. I couldn’t think of a good enough excuse not to, and they felt just like slightly padded underpants, so I had few objections. In the morning though, when I woke to find them quite expanded, I was glad mum had made me wear them. I wore them for several weeks and she was always on top of my problems. That was typical mum, always there giving me just what was required. I suppose she still does and that’s why she said I should hang on to the dummy until I’m certain I no longer want it. The pull-up saga began one Friday night when mum and I were watching TV as usual. It was still in school term time and had been revising pretty heavily so this was a nice break. However, even though actually sitting my exams was a few days off over the last couple of nights I’d begun to fret over how well I’d do and this had produced one or two leaky mornings, which I’d tried to hide. Mum drifted up to bed and an hour or so later I turned off the TV and ventured up myself. There on the bed was a pack of adult pull-ups and a pair of white vinyl pants. I wasn’t angry just wondered what I’d said or done that mum knew I needed such items because I thought I’d been pretty careful about leaving damp pants around. Anyway, it was too late to go and ask so ruefully stripped off my clothes and opened the package of a dozen pull-ups. I stood there for some time wondering if I should or shouldn’t, although it was fairly obvious I would slip one on. I knew it was sensible, I knew they were practical and above all I knew mum wouldn’t have bought them and left them out if she didn’t think they’d be helpful. Obviously, I was getting a bit anxious about this entire situation until I decided it would be for the best to at least try them for the night and see what happened. Once I’d made the decision, and the fluffy, pale blue and yellow pull-up was in place, everything just felt right and I was able to relax. I wasn’t sure about the plastic pants but knew that if mum had left them out there was a reason. However, I didn’t feel I needed them at that moment as I stood and looked at myself in the mirror and hoped I’d made the right choice. There was an emblem of a car on the front, which although quite childish, I liked... it looked fun. As I’d had a couple of near misses in the recent past realised a return to GoodNites for a few nights, might be a good idea but I didn’t want mum to think this was a regular occurrence. I mean, I don’t want to keep secrets from her but I know she’ll be there with another pack or two and I’m not sure those leaks are that bad (so, that’s just another thing I’m getting myself in a state over). I know it’s stupid worrying about worrying, especially if its worrying about something that doesn’t need worrying over... if that makes any sense at all? # Anyway, the GoodNites looked OK, just a bigger pair of underpants than I would normally wear and then it hit me how mum knew. Because she does my washing daily she must have discovered the various damp pairs of briefs at the bottom of the laundry hamper and put two and two together. Not a lot gets past mum. I smiled to myself because when I think about it mum probably knew about my little ‘mishaps’ long before I acknowledged the problem. Anyway, after slipping a t-shirt over my head I crawled under the covers and the padding didn’t feel at all intrusive. It hugged my bits and pieces nicely, felt warm and thick, and I thought no more about it as amazingly I quickly fell asleep. I say amazingly because, for the last week or so, once I knew I had the job and the start date drew nearer, I’d been quite anxious turning over and over in my head just what I’d be doing. Still at school but knowing I’d be losing a few friends once I left was more than a little upsetting. Anyway, it was stressful enough for me to need my dum-dum to suck on before sleep, which thankfully had the desired effect of helping soothe away such worries. However, this time I’d fallen asleep without even thinking about my new employment looming, being distracted by the feel of the GoodNite (it actually felt really comforting), and had no need of a dummy so... all seemed good. That was until I woke up soaked, the pull-up had leaked a bit and there were occasional wet patches on the sheets. Not enough to soak everything but enough to show I’d peed my protective pants yet again. As I was pulling off the sheets mum came in and saw me standing there in a soaked pull-up and damp sheets. “Forgot the plastic pants, eh?” There was mild accusation in her question but I knew from the tone she wasn’t angry just a bit sad that I hadn’t taken to the full idea of night time security. “Perhaps tonight?” She raised the question as she took the sheets from me and I nodded in agreement but felt foolish for not doing so in the first place. That was the end of the discussion. I knew mum wouldn’t make a big thing about it now she knew I’d take special care and, as I looked again in the mirror, I saw the thicker padding bulging out and boldly hanging onto my hips. # I think I need to add a bit of an explanation here. When I was sixteen I sat my ‘O’ levels and did pretty well (anxieties aside) and got top grades in seven of them. Now I was sitting ‘A’ levels, which were, as you might expect, more advanced than previous exams, so the pressure was ratcheted up. However, during that time I’d applied for a job and got it despite not having actually sat my exams at the time. Now the job didn’t rely on the results of my ‘A’ levels, they’d be a bonus but of course, being me, I wanted to do well. So, with the job looming, I’d only have a few days between finishing my exams and starting, thus putting even more pressure on me and I suppose the result was... extra-curricular peeing. So mum was correct in getting me some extra protection. # I took a shower and when I returned mum had put on clean sheets and remade my bed but left the plastic pants on the pillow to make sure I remembered when I next went to bed. Not very subtle but I smiled anyway as I could imagine her thinking I wouldn’t miss such a deliberate hint. I threw on a pair of briefs and some shorts as I was meeting a bunch of guys in the park for a kick around and made my way downstairs. “Billy called earlier,” mum said, “he and Mark can’t come.” “Did they say why?” “No but he didn’t sound happy about it. However, you know them better than me... perhaps you should call them.” I did wonder why they hadn’t called me on my mobile but used the landline. I mean, who uses that these days but I knew their parents were pretty strict and although Billy was only a year younger than me, and his brother Mark was fifteen, they were kept on a pretty tight leash. One of the ways their parents punished them was not allowing them to have a mobile phone “... a ridiculous and extravagant expense” Billy told me they said when he and his brother asked for one at Christmas – they got underwear and jumpers instead. In fact, their mum and dad buy all their clothes and they are allowed no say at all in what they wear. Again I was thankful to have a mum like mine because although some of my friends had terrible, uncaring parents, Billy and Mark’s parents were absolute sticklers about their behaviour and any transgression, no matter how minor (or appeared minor to anyone else) was dealt with severely. Over the years I’d seen both Mark and Billy crying because their father had given them a sound belting as a result of some misdemeanour or other. I liked both lads but they were completely terrified of their parents, which I thought was no way to be. I decided it best not to call in case I made things worse. “I’ll go to the park anyway, I’m sure they’ll be some of the guys around so...” “Okay love, do you want a lift as I’m popping into town in a minute so it’s on my way?” Mum was already searching for her bag and keys. “Sure, thanks. Do you need me to do anything when I get back?” I hoped I sounded helpful seeing as how she’s washed my sheets and they were out billowing on the line already. “Peal some potatoes if you fancy. No, on second thoughts, I’m not sure what we’re having for tea tonight so hold fire on that. Just fold the sheets if they’re dry... that would be nice.” “Okay.” And with that we set off. # James, Kili and Ralph were at the park when I arrived but none of them seemed to know what the problem was with Billy and Mark. We were all very aware of the Draconian dictatorship the brothers lived under and that just being near Mr and Mrs Edwards was quite an ordeal. The boys knew every little thing they did was being scrutinised, noted and would be used against them at some point, or at least that’s how it looked. We all kept as far away from their parents as we could because you felt like you were being analysed and generally disapproved of. Meanwhile, back in the park we were chatting and kicking a ball around for over an hour when I suddenly realised that my shorts were wet. It seemed a phantom pee because I had no idea that’s what I was doing. I’d only put a pair of cotton briefs on so there was very little protection and I knew my polyester football shorts would hardly soak stuff up. I looked down and I could see the damp spot enlarge so made up some excuse for having to leave in a hurry. I just hoped, as I had my back to the guys and said my good-bye, none of them noticed. “You OK Jase?” Kili called out. “Yep, just didn’t realise the time, I have to get home... see you guys later, okay?” I walked home with my hand over the front of my shorts (and wished I’d worn the black instead of the white pair) and, as I passed people, sort of moved sideways so as to avoid their gaze and hopefully so they couldn’t see my accident. When I checked again the damp spot had turned the shorts into an off-yellow, transparent disaster zone but as I had nothing else to wear had to put up with it. Even the t-shirt I was wearing wasn’t long enough to hide much of the stain so I started to jog home hoping that by rushing past fellow pedestrians, they wouldn’t have time to notice. I didn’t stop to find out. Back at the house I was relieved mum wasn’t in and didn’t have to make up an excuse. I could put my stuff on to wash and no one would be any the wiser. So, that’s just what I did, changing into a fresh pair of briefs and jeans before setting the machine going. I made myself a bowl of soup for lunch and toasted a couple of slices of bread to dip, a glass of fresh cold milk, mmm lovely. After lunch I checked the sheets on the line out in the garden and they were almost dry but thought could do with a bit longer so waited in front of the telly until my washing had finished. I woke up to find mum shaking me. “Wake up Jason, c’mon love, you need to get up.” She was shaking my shoulder and I sort of shook myself awake surprised that I’d fallen asleep. “You need to change love.” I still wasn’t quite with it and wondered why she was being so insistent. “Love, you’ve wet your pants.” “Erm, what, er, um....” “Just go and change love and I suggest you clean yourself up pretty carefully. Oh, and take off your jeans and undies and I’ll put them on to wash.” “I’ll...” “Now sweetheart I don’t want you dribbling through the house.” So under mum’s watchful and reproachful stare I slowly slid down the offending wet clothes and hid my junk behind my t-shirt. “Oh, and the shirt love it looks wet at the back.” So that was the end of my modesty. # She watched as my naked little bum made its way upstairs and into the bathroom. “The sofa seems fine...” She called out after me but I was too embarrassed to hear any more as I hurried to the bathroom. After the shower I headed to my bedroom but mum was waiting. “Sweetie, are you having problems?” I shook my head no. “Really?” She questioned in disbelief. She held up my now clean footie shorts and briefs. “Erm yer, I, umm,” I stammered for a good excuse but the lie evaded me and I was stuck with the truth. Mum had already sussed what had happened so it seemed stupid to deny it. “Yer, I had a bit of an accident on my way home from the park.” I didn’t want to tell her I was with my mates at the time. “Oh, poor you,” she gave me a gentle hug. “And now you’ve peed you pants for a second time today...” She left that hanging in the air. “So, what are we to do?” I shrugged. “Well, why not put one of your pull-ups on for the time being whilst we sort this out.” “But they’re for nights.” I tried to argue unconvincingly. “Right now sweetie... they for you to be safe... so,” and she produced one from behind her back. “You had this ready.” I was ashamed that my ‘problem’ had come to this. “Just put it on Jason... you know it’s what’s needed at the moment.... and then, if you want, we can chat about the way things are going.” “But I don’t want...” “Oh and don’t forget the plastic pants... please be sensible and put them on as well.” I’m eighteen, yet at that moment I felt like a stupid little kid who needed his mummy to look after him. I felt like mum was making a point, the plain white plastic pants were still on my pillow. Meanwhile she made it known that there were extra pairs of vinyl pants in my top drawer. Mum wanted me to know she’d bought a supply and that they were there to be used. Of course the choice would be mine. I was also angry with myself for falling asleep and letting things unfold without my involvement. I mean, I should have been able to wash a pair of undies and shorts and not leave them as evidence AND, I should be able to fall asleep and not wet my pants.... so all in all, I was pretty pissed off (literally) with myself. # The main point however was the fact that I had no idea why I wet in broad day light. I hadn’t felt overly stressed, I’d been playing footy so had no thoughts of anything else. As the starting day for the job approached, although scary, I hadn’t given that much thought either and yet, I was obviously anxious about something. The reason eluded me so at that moment I thought it better to go along with mum’s suggestion. It didn’t ‘ping’ in my head at the time as it was only later when I thought about it. However, when I fell asleep in front of the TV I’d been thinking about Billy and Mark’s parents. I thought they were somehow mine and I was constantly scared and under suspicion. How I’d hate to be under their jurisdiction so wondered if that had caused the unexpected flow – anxiety about them? Of course, I pulled up the pull-up and grabbed the new vinyl pants and went and found a loose pair of shorts. I checked in the mirror and, although I knew what I was wearing underneath, I didn’t think it showed at all. So that alleviated some of my initial worries right away. I stood for a moment thinking. I mean, this wasn’t the first time I’d wet my pants whilst being grown up. In fact, quite often, when I got anxious there was a little trickle in my undies. As I’ve mentioned before, I’d often try to hide that fact though it now appeared to be not much of a secret. So, as I looked at the slight bulge under my shorts I could feel the thickness of the pull-up, whilst even the slightest movement made me aware of the slipperiness of the plastic pants. Then I began to wonder if the concern and wetting were linked. Or was it just that if I wet I got the comforting hug of protection and that made me feel safe... not unlike the dummy? I was asking myself questions I couldn’t answer and then began to worry about that fact. I looked in my bedside cabinet and saw my dummy waiting to help me over this confusing process but on this occasion I left it and returned to mum in the living room. I had to admit that the padded pull-up the previous night had been a revelation because it had been so comfy and relaxing. # Mum had made us both a cup of tea and was sitting on the sofa waiting. “Sorry mum.” I thought I’d better get in first. “I didn’t mean for...well... any of this.” And I pointed to my groin, so there was no doubt as to what I meant. “I know love.” She said in her usual loving tone and invited me to sit next to her. She looked tenderly into my eyes. “I know you’re at a crossroads sweetheart. Job, future and friends all pulling in various ways and that seems to be having quite an effect on you.” I shrugged but knew she was probably correct in her observation... although it didn’t feel quite like that. “The dummy and the pull-ups..? Both of which we know have you wondering if you’re not too old for such things.” As usual she was reading my mind. “I’m sure it’s making you uncomfortable to know that at your age you’re using them.” I slowly nodded in agreement. “But, and I can’t stress this enough love. What are the alternatives, hmmm?” I looked down at the floor hoping for something, inspiration of some kind, to answer this question. “I think, and I may be wrong,” she started slowly whilst stroking my arm, “that you are over worrying about things. You know you’re going to be brilliant at your job AND you know that no one really knows what the future holds. Thankfully you’ve got a pretty good start with the direction you want to go.” I know mum was trying to help, and usually she does but I had a sudden chilling shiver run down my spine which caught me unawares and I realised that it was more than that. “Mum, that’s just it, I don’t know that. What’s worse, when I think of the future and look around at my mates, the news, the climate... everything, I’m petrified.” “Oh Jason.” She hugged me close and patted my back. “I’ve always been scared and I don’t know why. Mum, what if I fail?” I could feel the worry unexpectedly building from what appeared to be no basis. I was almost hyperventilating with stress. “What if I’m hopeless at this job and they see I’m just a fake, a stupid boy who should never have got it in the first place... mum, what if...” She was holding me tightly but then it all poured out. “None of my friends have jobs yet and those going to Uni are only going because they can’t face the prospect or work. I see some of the older kids who used to go to my school and they’re in gangs or just not functioning... what if that’s me in a month’s time?” As far as I knew these reservations had never been at the forefront of my brain and yet, all this came streaming out easily, as if I’d been thinking about it for ages and it caused me immense pain. “But love, it’s not everybody,” she tried to reassure me, “I’m sure some are successful and just getting on with life... and not worrying...” “But what if it is me? What if I can’t hack it and fail?” Panic in what I was saying suddenly took over my body and I was shaking. “Now sweetie, stop this.” She hugged me tightly and although I had my eyes screwed up to try and hold back the tears... they were imminent. “C’mon love, take this,” I felt her gently push something between my lips, “and let those unnecessary worries go.” Without even giving it a thought I took the dummy in and began to suck. Mum continued to hold me and stroke my back and I began to relax. “I have every faith in you love. I don’t think you’ll fail because you’re bright, good natured and above all, dedicated.” She hugged me all through her little speech and in truth it did make me feel better. “Don’t worry about things you have no control over... you’ll do fine dealing with those you have.” She buried her face in my mop of hair and kissed the top of my head. It’s amazing that mum’s reassuring cuddle was all I really needed to instantly relax me but she added more. “Look love... just lie out, close your eyes and unwind. Let go of all your thoughts and let the rhythm of your dummy calm and comfort you.” I did as she said and she left me to it. It always worked and within seconds I was dozing and drifted into a warm black hole. Nothing coming in, nothing going out - all I could hear was the gentle pulse of my heartbeat which seemed to be in sync with my sucking. I felt all warm and cosy. This was a really nice place to be and I wriggled trying to get deeper within its comforting mental fabric, which was also soft, fluffy and welcoming. Nothing could touch me here. Nothing pricked my mind with thoughts or doubts. I sucked and sucked, I was safe. # Far off I could hear a voice. I strained to hear what was being said but I couldn’t grasp the meaning. The voice got louder and eventually there was a tug on my shoulder. “Wake up love, your tea’s on the table and you won’t sleep tonight.” It was mum once again shaking me back to the real world. I was still sucking on the dummy and I could feel something else. Oh yes, my pull-up felt bloated. “Are you OK sweetheart?” Mum smiled concern. “Olggghh” I began to speak but realised I still had the dummy in. I took it out. “Yes, just a bit groggy.” I didn’t know if she knew what had happened but I’d obviously slept quite deeply and filled the front of my pull-up. “I’ll just be a second I’ve just got to... you know..?” “OK, don’t be long it’s already on the table and will get cold. If you’re going to be a while I’ll shove it in the oven.” I slid a hand down the front of my shorts to do a quick inspection and through the glassy plastic could feel the ruined underwear. I thought I’ll need something stronger and more absorbent in future. I was in two minds whether to change but decided it could wait until I’d eaten and then I’d have more time to see exactly what needed to be done to rectify the situation. I tentatively waddled to the kitchen where mum had made lasagne with what smelled like a freshly baked baguette to dip in the sauce. As I sat down there was a noise that made mum look but didn’t say anything. Although it wasn’t the first time I’d sat in a wet pull-up on this occasion I didn’t realise just how uncomfortable it’d be. Mum saw me wriggling and after we finished looked apprehensive. “Oh darling... another accident?” Although mum knows all about my ‘anxiety issues’ what came next was a bit of a surprise as she’d even guessed that the pull-up might not be strong enough. “Look love, I’ve bought some things a little more absorbent if you feel able to wear them.” # She moved to the cupboard under the sink and produced a pack of ‘Durable Slips’, which was a brand of disposables I’d heard of - thick protection designed for the heavy wetter. I’d seen the adverts in newspapers and online on many occasions. I suspect mum had seen the same and anticipated that I might need them over the coming few weeks as I settled into my new job. She probably guessed that I would have issues like I frequently do. “Don’t you think that’s going a bit too far?” I queried but not really believing my own words. “Well sweetheart, I suspect that the idea has already occurred to you (how did she know?). But, thought I’d get them just in case... of course, it’s up to you whether you want to try them or not.” This had always been the situation. Mum never forced me into anything. She would advise and tell my why she was making any suggestion but it was always up to me to try and sort things out. She just made sure I had the tools needed and then it was up to me to use if it felt right to do so. Mum and I are close but I’ve always appreciated the independence (with care) she gave me even as a child and continues to lovingly supply. The thing is... I have, on several occasions in the past, found comfort in wearing padding. I’ve fooled myself that I’ve hidden those desires well but the purchase of these Durable Slips indicates she’s had some idea all along. Maybe I’ve just been fooling myself and have even less secrets than I thought or I’m just rubbish at hiding my true self. Either way, mum’s on the case and I’m appreciative of all she does for me. When bedtime comes, I’ll be wearing those durables with vinyl pants over them. I won’t be taking any chances again. A few days later, and when the pack of Durables had almost been used, mum said something I wasn’t expecting at all. # tbc #