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A story I wrote
Go easy on me, this is a first draft. Be forewarned, this isn't meant to be a 3 minute "wank" materiel story. I love to write, and I tried to combine my love of storytelling with this fetish. This story never really happened, but I have always imagined something like this happening exactly as described. I hope you enjoy.
-Six
Honeymoon
The road throbbed rhythmically beneath my tires as I drove into the darkness. My XM radio tugged at my subconscious as I stared blankly into the night. The vast expanse of Western Colorado spread out unseen before me, cloaked by an evening which had lost in its battle with the dusk. A slivered moon offered it's glow as a consolation prize. I looked to my right at my new bride. She slept silently, slumped against the window as she dreamed peacefully. I reached for my soda and took a sip, using my imagination to place myself into her dreams and wonder what she dreamt about, hoping it was me. She shifted slightly, smiled, then nestled back into her comfort zone as she mumbled something softly. Whatever it was she was dreaming of, it looked wonderful. It must be of me
I clicked on my turn indicator and drifted into the left lane. The semi in front of me swayed slightly as a groove in the road slightly adjusted his trajectory, but it maintained its path. I cruised past him quickly, then returned to the right lane. I glanced in my mirror as I headed up the hill, watching his headlights disappear like an apparition who had found someone else to haunt. No lights lay ahead of me. It was going to be a long drive to Salt Lake City, especially when my companion had succumbed to the gentle call of sleep. Given the preceding two days, I couldn't blame her.
Towns came and went like mirages, hardly registering on my conscience. With nothing else to do, I let my thoughts run amok in my head, and of course those thoughts were full of my wife. Having just married the woman of my dreams, I couldn't help but smile. I placed my hand on her leg gently and looked at her again. I smiled as I thought of the path in life that we had already walked together, and eagerly looked toward the bright one that lay before us. There was never a woman in my life I had ever loved more, nor could there ever be. She was perfect. We had been friends since first grade, and now, twenty years later, she was my wife. I couldn't think of what good thing I had done in my life to deserve someone like her, but I tried not to worry about it. Whatever it was, it was good enough to reap a reward that would last a lifetime.
We were about 20 miles west of Eagle when I crested a hill and a line of red lights stretched as far as I could see. Alarmed, I quickly applied the brakes and began to stop. The cessation of motion made my wife stir, and I heard her move and even in the darkness, I could tell she was annoyed. “Why are we stopping?” she asked through clenched eyes and teeth. “Well, looks like there is some traffic. I see some police lights in the distance, but that's gotta be at least 3-4 miles”. She just nodded as she leaned back against the window and huffed loudly. Having just slept for the past two hours, I couldn't imagine why she seemed so annoyed. “Women...” I thought as I came to a stop behind a Toyota.
We had been sitting still for about five minutes when she stirred again. She tossed and flopped in an attempt to get comfortable, and I could tell it was a battle she had no chance of winning. Her brow furrowed and she suddenly opened her eyes, and looked at me. “Everything okay, honey?” I asked. “No. Air...I need air” she said quickly.
My wife had always had a little trouble with car trips. She became ill at the slightest provocation at times. My left hand felt for the button and I pressed it down to give her some ventilation. The crisp Colorado air swept in and conquered the warm cocoon I had built up in the car. Getting some fresh air made me realize how stale the air inside had been. Nevertheless, I rolled the window back up half way. She reached down to her button and returned the window to its full open position. I smelled a slightly sour odor and looked at her again. “You okay, honey?” I asked again. She just shook her head and placed her head on the windowsill. Perhaps having the heater on so long without fresh air hadn't been such a good idea for her.
She shifted again and I heard a faint sound emanating from her rear. Rather than ask a question a third time for which I had already received two of the same answer, I kept quiet. Hey, if you have gas, you have gas, it's perfectly natural. I was just thankful I had a reason to stand the cold swirling around my car by now.
“I have to go to the bathroom” she said flatly.
“Well, honey, we're sort of stuck in traffic here, I don't know what to tell you”.
“Get me to a bathroom” she said again.
I looked around. Interstate 70 was dead stopped. I had no idea why we were completely stopped but the reason didn't matter so much as the reality that we were. I tried to recall in my hazy memory when we had last passed a town. Eagle had been at least 20 minutes ago, maybe more, and that was in the other direction. The eastbound lanes were moving freely and beckoned me aboard, but the grass and dirt median separated by a k-rail denied that notion. The point was moot anyhow, as I was in the right lane and had a lane full of cars between me and the impassable median. I hoped she figured out without me having to break the news: we were stuck where we were.
She did.
“Oh man, we're stuck, aren't we” she said, right on cue.
“Uh, yeah honey, it looks like we are”.
“But I need a bathroom!” she pleaded, and I could tell by her urgency that she didn't have much time.
I started to say “honey, I don't know what to tell you”, but I knew that would just add to her misery. I knew that saying such a phrase deflected control of the situation from me back to her, and from the looks of it she had her hands full already and needed my support. So instead, I told her “what can I do to help you?”
Of course that wasn't the answer she was expecting, but it was the one she got. By now she had her head on her hand that was propped on the doorsill, and she tilted her head slightly to look at me. I knew as well as she did what was likely going to happen. I saw a look of panic start to spread across her face.
Her mouth stood slightly open as I saw her flipping through her options in her mind. Though she was only my wife of two days, we had spent the entire span of our cognitive years together, and our two minds were synced as one. I read along with her the options that were available to her, and none of them were good. I arrived at her only three options just before she did, most likely because she didn't want to accept them.
Helping her face her situation, I began “well, it IS dark outside, you could go off the highway and do your business there”. Predictably, she shook her head definitively and we moved on to her other two options. “Honey, if you can't hold it you could always...poop your pants”.
The reality of her situation finally hit her. She didn't move.
I feel it is at this point that I should mention that my wife knows about my pants-pooping fetish. Despite my one aberration she still loves me because I have so many other good upsides. I love her, I take care of her, and I am and always have been faithful and devoted to her. No one is perfect, and she realizes this, which is why she tolerates my unusual desire. She allows me to conduct my fetish in private so long as I keep it private. She knows when I'm pooping my pants, but I am typically upstairs and out of sight while she remains downstairs doing other things. She has even participated with me a handful of times, messing her pants for my pleasure, but most certainly not for hers. It is qualities like that which made me decide to finally marry her. A good woman will do anything to please her man, and she had this quality in spades. I will do anything to make her happy as well, which is why I never ask her to poop her pants for me. She just does it of her own accord, rare as it may be, but its enough to keep me interested. By this time it had been almost two years since she had done it, and interested as I was, this hardly seemed like a pleasurable event to revisit old times.
I continued on “...and if you don't like that idea, you know I keep diapers in the trunk for situations exactly like this”.
She never liked the idea of me keeping diapers in the trunk. Why it bothered her so much I'll never know, but I assume it had something to do with the idea of someone finding out. Believe it or not, I truly did have them in my trunk for practical reasons like this one, though realistically I thought it would never come up. But then again, time makes fools of us all, and here we were.
She didn't like that third option and seemed annoyed that I had suggested it. Rather than add fuel to the fire, I decided to keep quiet. “I'll try and hold it” she said and readjusted her seat to find a more comfortable position. I turned my attention back to the sea of cars spread out in front of me. Darkness spread in all directions except the road ahead of and behind me. The moon appeared to have had enough for one evening and slipped its way toward the horizon, growing in size as it said goodbye for the night. Seeing no new developments, I shifted my car into park, killed the headlights, and shut off the engine.
We sat there for a good ten minutes, watching lights extinguish all around us as more and more people realized we were in for the long haul. Her discomfort was so powerful I began to feel her pain. There was nothing more I wanted than to make her comfortable. My love of her and my desire to see her maintain her dignity trumped my desire to see her poop her pants, and I actually hoped that she wouldn't. I looked at her as she tried to rest with the window down. A cold breeze tickled the hairs on the back of my neck and felt refreshing and cool. I hoped that she could feel the same touch from the wind that I had. Her light brunette hair flickered with the breath of winter and she pulled her coat tighter. Her earrings danced in a playful rhythm as she adjusted, readjusted, then readjusted again her posture. Her breathing was labored but even. Her sunglasses remained on her head, forgotten in the night from when she fell asleep during sunset. Her mid-length dress lay lightly on her thighs, coming to just above the knees. We had just had a nice dinner in Denver before we headed out of town, and she still looked fabulous. My mind saw the underwear that she had on, a pink pair of full-cut briefs that read the word “BRAT” across the rear. That's what I loved about her. She was a charming lady on the outside, but a naughty child within. It was this dichotomy in personalities that never left me wanting for another woman. She had it all. To paraphrase a favorite song of mine, she was both sides of the fence, and every woman I had never had. Her proud but feminine demeanor shone through her battling stomach, which was wrapped with her left arm. I glanced at her left hand across her lap, and felt a thrill as I saw the new ring which finally adorned her hand. Even in the throes of illness she was stunningly beautiful.
Hypnotized by the lack of motion and the dull droning of my radio, I didn't notice when she sat upright and began to lean forward. I looked at her, and it looked like she was going to cry. I saw her look around quickly, and then she looked at me. Our eyes locked, mine full of concern and hers full of panic. “I'm not going to make it...” she said, never breaking eye contact.
“I know baby. It's okay”. Her eyes darted around quickly, then refocused on me.
“Are...are you sure?”
“Yes honey, I'm sure. If you have to go, you can go in your pants. I'll take care of you, I promise”.
“But I really have to go!” she said, almost in tears. “I just bought this dress!”
“I'll buy you a new one, don't worry” I told her. Then I said “do you want me to get the diaper?”
“No time...” she said quickly, then unbuckled her seat belt and rose off the seat.
I watched, hypnotized this time by something interesting. At first, nothing happened. I heard her push, but nothing came out. I couldn't figure it out, but I could tell her stomach was causing her extreme discomfort. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were as red as I had ever seen them. They weren't red from exertion, however. They were red from embarrassment. I saw one tear roll down her right cheek, then another down her left. I couldn't believe it. She was crying.
“Honey, it's okay, it's okay...” I said softly as I wiped a tear from her cheek. I stroked her hair and rubbed her back.
“I...can't...go” she sobbed. “But...my...stomach hurts!” she managed.
She was having difficulty going in her pants. This was understandable. She was trying to do something she didn't want to do, and my heart went out for her. I felt foolish for having taken pleasure in this scenario in my mind for so many years. Reality is never as good as fantasy, and this episode proved it. At this point, I was no longer a fetishist, but a loving and caring husband, so I did my best to do for my wife what I felt needed to be done.
“Honey...listen to me...” I began softly as I continued to rub her back. “Honey...shhhh...relax...and push”.
Her crying continued, but at a slower rate. She sat back down on the seat as she closed her eyes. I continued to make “shhhh...” sounds to calm her down, and eventually her sobbing stopped as the flow of tears dwindled. I felt her body relax, and I saw her stomach clench. Sitting flat on the seat, I heard a soft crackling sound. “That's it, baby, keep going”. She exhaled and took in another breath, bearing down a little more this time. “Honey...” I began...”you've already pooped your pants, what does it matter if you finish?” I wasn't sure if she needed the help, but I offered it anyway. She didn't say anything, but I did notice her push again with more authority. She grunted slightly and I heard more soft crackling sounds. She pushed again and lifted off the seat and I heard a faster rushing soft crackle followed by a hollow “blort” sound as she finished. A strong smell filled the car and made a quick exit out the open window. I retrieved my jacket from the back seat and rolled down all four windows. Not knowing what else to say, I said gently “feel better?”.
She just nodded without looking at me at sat down gingerly on the seat. We sat there in silence for the next half hour when traffic slowly started moving again. Twenty minutes later, we saw the source of the backup as two big rigs lay tangled and smoky on the shoulder. There couldn't have been survivors.
“At least your accident wasn't as bad as that one” I said as we drove by. If she heard me, she gave no sign.
When we reached Glenwood Springs a short time later, I pulled into a gas station and went inside to ask for the womens bathroom key. I returned to my wife with the key, and went into my luggage to grab the two towels we had stolen from our hotel in Denver. I couldn't think of a better use for stolen merchandise. I handed them to her as she got out of the car and headed for the bathroom. I pulled the car around to the pump and filled it with five gallons of fuel while I waited for her to return. I cleaned my windows, wrote down my mileage, and cleaned out some garbage from the car. When that was done and she hadn't returned, I parked outside the bathroom and waited for her. She emerged a short time later with a new shirt and jeans from our luggage. The towels were nowhere to be seen but her panties were a wreck and placed in a plastic baggie. She got back in the car and said nothing. Wisely, I said nothing either as we turned back on to the interstate and continued on our journey. We were coming up to the Utah border when she finally spoke.
“I should have worn the diaper”.
-Six
Honeymoon
The road throbbed rhythmically beneath my tires as I drove into the darkness. My XM radio tugged at my subconscious as I stared blankly into the night. The vast expanse of Western Colorado spread out unseen before me, cloaked by an evening which had lost in its battle with the dusk. A slivered moon offered it's glow as a consolation prize. I looked to my right at my new bride. She slept silently, slumped against the window as she dreamed peacefully. I reached for my soda and took a sip, using my imagination to place myself into her dreams and wonder what she dreamt about, hoping it was me. She shifted slightly, smiled, then nestled back into her comfort zone as she mumbled something softly. Whatever it was she was dreaming of, it looked wonderful. It must be of me
I clicked on my turn indicator and drifted into the left lane. The semi in front of me swayed slightly as a groove in the road slightly adjusted his trajectory, but it maintained its path. I cruised past him quickly, then returned to the right lane. I glanced in my mirror as I headed up the hill, watching his headlights disappear like an apparition who had found someone else to haunt. No lights lay ahead of me. It was going to be a long drive to Salt Lake City, especially when my companion had succumbed to the gentle call of sleep. Given the preceding two days, I couldn't blame her.
Towns came and went like mirages, hardly registering on my conscience. With nothing else to do, I let my thoughts run amok in my head, and of course those thoughts were full of my wife. Having just married the woman of my dreams, I couldn't help but smile. I placed my hand on her leg gently and looked at her again. I smiled as I thought of the path in life that we had already walked together, and eagerly looked toward the bright one that lay before us. There was never a woman in my life I had ever loved more, nor could there ever be. She was perfect. We had been friends since first grade, and now, twenty years later, she was my wife. I couldn't think of what good thing I had done in my life to deserve someone like her, but I tried not to worry about it. Whatever it was, it was good enough to reap a reward that would last a lifetime.
We were about 20 miles west of Eagle when I crested a hill and a line of red lights stretched as far as I could see. Alarmed, I quickly applied the brakes and began to stop. The cessation of motion made my wife stir, and I heard her move and even in the darkness, I could tell she was annoyed. “Why are we stopping?” she asked through clenched eyes and teeth. “Well, looks like there is some traffic. I see some police lights in the distance, but that's gotta be at least 3-4 miles”. She just nodded as she leaned back against the window and huffed loudly. Having just slept for the past two hours, I couldn't imagine why she seemed so annoyed. “Women...” I thought as I came to a stop behind a Toyota.
We had been sitting still for about five minutes when she stirred again. She tossed and flopped in an attempt to get comfortable, and I could tell it was a battle she had no chance of winning. Her brow furrowed and she suddenly opened her eyes, and looked at me. “Everything okay, honey?” I asked. “No. Air...I need air” she said quickly.
My wife had always had a little trouble with car trips. She became ill at the slightest provocation at times. My left hand felt for the button and I pressed it down to give her some ventilation. The crisp Colorado air swept in and conquered the warm cocoon I had built up in the car. Getting some fresh air made me realize how stale the air inside had been. Nevertheless, I rolled the window back up half way. She reached down to her button and returned the window to its full open position. I smelled a slightly sour odor and looked at her again. “You okay, honey?” I asked again. She just shook her head and placed her head on the windowsill. Perhaps having the heater on so long without fresh air hadn't been such a good idea for her.
She shifted again and I heard a faint sound emanating from her rear. Rather than ask a question a third time for which I had already received two of the same answer, I kept quiet. Hey, if you have gas, you have gas, it's perfectly natural. I was just thankful I had a reason to stand the cold swirling around my car by now.
“I have to go to the bathroom” she said flatly.
“Well, honey, we're sort of stuck in traffic here, I don't know what to tell you”.
“Get me to a bathroom” she said again.
I looked around. Interstate 70 was dead stopped. I had no idea why we were completely stopped but the reason didn't matter so much as the reality that we were. I tried to recall in my hazy memory when we had last passed a town. Eagle had been at least 20 minutes ago, maybe more, and that was in the other direction. The eastbound lanes were moving freely and beckoned me aboard, but the grass and dirt median separated by a k-rail denied that notion. The point was moot anyhow, as I was in the right lane and had a lane full of cars between me and the impassable median. I hoped she figured out without me having to break the news: we were stuck where we were.
She did.
“Oh man, we're stuck, aren't we” she said, right on cue.
“Uh, yeah honey, it looks like we are”.
“But I need a bathroom!” she pleaded, and I could tell by her urgency that she didn't have much time.
I started to say “honey, I don't know what to tell you”, but I knew that would just add to her misery. I knew that saying such a phrase deflected control of the situation from me back to her, and from the looks of it she had her hands full already and needed my support. So instead, I told her “what can I do to help you?”
Of course that wasn't the answer she was expecting, but it was the one she got. By now she had her head on her hand that was propped on the doorsill, and she tilted her head slightly to look at me. I knew as well as she did what was likely going to happen. I saw a look of panic start to spread across her face.
Her mouth stood slightly open as I saw her flipping through her options in her mind. Though she was only my wife of two days, we had spent the entire span of our cognitive years together, and our two minds were synced as one. I read along with her the options that were available to her, and none of them were good. I arrived at her only three options just before she did, most likely because she didn't want to accept them.
Helping her face her situation, I began “well, it IS dark outside, you could go off the highway and do your business there”. Predictably, she shook her head definitively and we moved on to her other two options. “Honey, if you can't hold it you could always...poop your pants”.
The reality of her situation finally hit her. She didn't move.
I feel it is at this point that I should mention that my wife knows about my pants-pooping fetish. Despite my one aberration she still loves me because I have so many other good upsides. I love her, I take care of her, and I am and always have been faithful and devoted to her. No one is perfect, and she realizes this, which is why she tolerates my unusual desire. She allows me to conduct my fetish in private so long as I keep it private. She knows when I'm pooping my pants, but I am typically upstairs and out of sight while she remains downstairs doing other things. She has even participated with me a handful of times, messing her pants for my pleasure, but most certainly not for hers. It is qualities like that which made me decide to finally marry her. A good woman will do anything to please her man, and she had this quality in spades. I will do anything to make her happy as well, which is why I never ask her to poop her pants for me. She just does it of her own accord, rare as it may be, but its enough to keep me interested. By this time it had been almost two years since she had done it, and interested as I was, this hardly seemed like a pleasurable event to revisit old times.
I continued on “...and if you don't like that idea, you know I keep diapers in the trunk for situations exactly like this”.
She never liked the idea of me keeping diapers in the trunk. Why it bothered her so much I'll never know, but I assume it had something to do with the idea of someone finding out. Believe it or not, I truly did have them in my trunk for practical reasons like this one, though realistically I thought it would never come up. But then again, time makes fools of us all, and here we were.
She didn't like that third option and seemed annoyed that I had suggested it. Rather than add fuel to the fire, I decided to keep quiet. “I'll try and hold it” she said and readjusted her seat to find a more comfortable position. I turned my attention back to the sea of cars spread out in front of me. Darkness spread in all directions except the road ahead of and behind me. The moon appeared to have had enough for one evening and slipped its way toward the horizon, growing in size as it said goodbye for the night. Seeing no new developments, I shifted my car into park, killed the headlights, and shut off the engine.
We sat there for a good ten minutes, watching lights extinguish all around us as more and more people realized we were in for the long haul. Her discomfort was so powerful I began to feel her pain. There was nothing more I wanted than to make her comfortable. My love of her and my desire to see her maintain her dignity trumped my desire to see her poop her pants, and I actually hoped that she wouldn't. I looked at her as she tried to rest with the window down. A cold breeze tickled the hairs on the back of my neck and felt refreshing and cool. I hoped that she could feel the same touch from the wind that I had. Her light brunette hair flickered with the breath of winter and she pulled her coat tighter. Her earrings danced in a playful rhythm as she adjusted, readjusted, then readjusted again her posture. Her breathing was labored but even. Her sunglasses remained on her head, forgotten in the night from when she fell asleep during sunset. Her mid-length dress lay lightly on her thighs, coming to just above the knees. We had just had a nice dinner in Denver before we headed out of town, and she still looked fabulous. My mind saw the underwear that she had on, a pink pair of full-cut briefs that read the word “BRAT” across the rear. That's what I loved about her. She was a charming lady on the outside, but a naughty child within. It was this dichotomy in personalities that never left me wanting for another woman. She had it all. To paraphrase a favorite song of mine, she was both sides of the fence, and every woman I had never had. Her proud but feminine demeanor shone through her battling stomach, which was wrapped with her left arm. I glanced at her left hand across her lap, and felt a thrill as I saw the new ring which finally adorned her hand. Even in the throes of illness she was stunningly beautiful.
Hypnotized by the lack of motion and the dull droning of my radio, I didn't notice when she sat upright and began to lean forward. I looked at her, and it looked like she was going to cry. I saw her look around quickly, and then she looked at me. Our eyes locked, mine full of concern and hers full of panic. “I'm not going to make it...” she said, never breaking eye contact.
“I know baby. It's okay”. Her eyes darted around quickly, then refocused on me.
“Are...are you sure?”
“Yes honey, I'm sure. If you have to go, you can go in your pants. I'll take care of you, I promise”.
“But I really have to go!” she said, almost in tears. “I just bought this dress!”
“I'll buy you a new one, don't worry” I told her. Then I said “do you want me to get the diaper?”
“No time...” she said quickly, then unbuckled her seat belt and rose off the seat.
I watched, hypnotized this time by something interesting. At first, nothing happened. I heard her push, but nothing came out. I couldn't figure it out, but I could tell her stomach was causing her extreme discomfort. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were as red as I had ever seen them. They weren't red from exertion, however. They were red from embarrassment. I saw one tear roll down her right cheek, then another down her left. I couldn't believe it. She was crying.
“Honey, it's okay, it's okay...” I said softly as I wiped a tear from her cheek. I stroked her hair and rubbed her back.
“I...can't...go” she sobbed. “But...my...stomach hurts!” she managed.
She was having difficulty going in her pants. This was understandable. She was trying to do something she didn't want to do, and my heart went out for her. I felt foolish for having taken pleasure in this scenario in my mind for so many years. Reality is never as good as fantasy, and this episode proved it. At this point, I was no longer a fetishist, but a loving and caring husband, so I did my best to do for my wife what I felt needed to be done.
“Honey...listen to me...” I began softly as I continued to rub her back. “Honey...shhhh...relax...and push”.
Her crying continued, but at a slower rate. She sat back down on the seat as she closed her eyes. I continued to make “shhhh...” sounds to calm her down, and eventually her sobbing stopped as the flow of tears dwindled. I felt her body relax, and I saw her stomach clench. Sitting flat on the seat, I heard a soft crackling sound. “That's it, baby, keep going”. She exhaled and took in another breath, bearing down a little more this time. “Honey...” I began...”you've already pooped your pants, what does it matter if you finish?” I wasn't sure if she needed the help, but I offered it anyway. She didn't say anything, but I did notice her push again with more authority. She grunted slightly and I heard more soft crackling sounds. She pushed again and lifted off the seat and I heard a faster rushing soft crackle followed by a hollow “blort” sound as she finished. A strong smell filled the car and made a quick exit out the open window. I retrieved my jacket from the back seat and rolled down all four windows. Not knowing what else to say, I said gently “feel better?”.
She just nodded without looking at me at sat down gingerly on the seat. We sat there in silence for the next half hour when traffic slowly started moving again. Twenty minutes later, we saw the source of the backup as two big rigs lay tangled and smoky on the shoulder. There couldn't have been survivors.
“At least your accident wasn't as bad as that one” I said as we drove by. If she heard me, she gave no sign.
When we reached Glenwood Springs a short time later, I pulled into a gas station and went inside to ask for the womens bathroom key. I returned to my wife with the key, and went into my luggage to grab the two towels we had stolen from our hotel in Denver. I couldn't think of a better use for stolen merchandise. I handed them to her as she got out of the car and headed for the bathroom. I pulled the car around to the pump and filled it with five gallons of fuel while I waited for her to return. I cleaned my windows, wrote down my mileage, and cleaned out some garbage from the car. When that was done and she hadn't returned, I parked outside the bathroom and waited for her. She emerged a short time later with a new shirt and jeans from our luggage. The towels were nowhere to be seen but her panties were a wreck and placed in a plastic baggie. She got back in the car and said nothing. Wisely, I said nothing either as we turned back on to the interstate and continued on our journey. We were coming up to the Utah border when she finally spoke.
“I should have worn the diaper”.
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