This week I’d become sloppy with reporting my school uniform outings to my Big Brother. He wasn’t impressed.
His message was clear: I needed a full day in nappies and uniform to remind me of my proper place.
I started with a thick disposable adult nappy, quietly grateful it wasn’t cloth.
Over it I pulled a pair of white crinkly plastic pants that bloomed noticeably around my hips. The loud plastic rustling with every movement made my stomach drop. I then dressed in my usual school shirt and tie, grey knee socks pulled up with garters, and smart black T-bar shoes.
I tried on three different pairs of shorts. Only one fitted over the bulky nappy, and even then the shape was obviously swollen and unnatural. With my heart racing, I pulled on my green school jumper and stepped outside.
The plastic pants crinkled loudly with every step. The padded bulk between my legs forced me into a slight waddle, and the distorted shape of the shorts made the nappy impossible to hide.
I walked to the shops to buy a healthy lunch, painfully aware of the noisy crinkle and the way people glanced at my oddly shaped lower half.
After that I sat in the park to eat, feeling every bit the oversized junior I was supposed to be.
On the waddle home, already wet and deeply humiliated, the reality sank in. This was my reminder. I dread the day Big Brother makes me wear bulky traditional cloth nappies instead.
For now, I’m just a junior who needs to do better.