simonsholidays - Tumblr blog

simonsholidays · 1 month

Text

Simon's holidays - Part 3: At Burger King

We enter Burger King and head straight to a self-ordering kiosk. My dad makes his choices, and then it's my turn. He pays for the meal, and we take a numbered stand before finding a table.

"Stand up," my dad instructs as I'm about to sit down.

He sits, and I wonder why he's telling me to remain standing until I see him tearing open the package of diapers.

"I'll give you a diaper, and you're going to the restroom to put it on," he says.

"You want me to put on a diaper right now?" I whisper in disbelief.

"We have a registration appointment at the daycare later. You need to start playing your part."

"But what if someone checks if I'm wearing one?"

"I don't know, but just in case, put one on. Would you prefer to do it in the car later, in front of me?"

"No..."

"Then go to the restroom and put it on. Do you need help?"

"I'm not a baby, I can handle it."

I'm not a baby, but here I am about to put on a diaper. The irony isn't lost on me. Babies usually wear diapers, and here I am, a kid, about to do the same.

Thinking about my gaming console helps me muster the courage. So, I discreetly take the diaper he hands me and tuck it under my sweatshirt to hide it for the journey. From the brief glimpse I had, it looks quite large.

I head toward the restroom and lock the door, double-checking that no one can walk in. I take the diaper in my hands and examine it. In a strange way, it resembles boxer briefs or maybe underwear, but it's noticeably thicker.

Well, I can't spend the whole day here; I don't want to eat a cold burger. I try to remove my jeans without taking off my shoes, but it's impossible. I take off my shoes, then my jeans. I lower my underwear and place it on the sink.

Now, I'm naked from the waist down. I look at myself, feeling ridiculous even at this point, and I can't help but imagine what comes next.

My dad explained what puberty is, and some of my friends have already started going through it, but not me. I'm also not very tall; I'm one of the smallest kids in my school. I really hope I'll catch up in height.

I pick up the diaper again and begin to unwrap it. I slip one foot inside, then the other. I pull the diaper up my legs and into place.

It's pretty bizarre to have this diaper on. I have to admit it's quite comfortable and pleasant to wear, which surprises me. However, it's a bit too large, and I notice that much older kids could probably wear it too.

What I didn't expect at all is how thick the diaper is – both in the front and back, and especially in the crotch area.

A look in the mirror in front of me reflects an image that doesn't belong to me. I don't understand who this little boy, maybe around 7 years old, wearing a diaper, could be.

"Console, console, console," I repeat to myself to muster courage.

I need to hurry because someone is trying to enter the restroom. Thankfully, the door is locked. I grab my underwear, slip it on over the diaper, and pull it up. Then, I do the same with my jeans, but that's when the problems start. The diaper is too bulky, and my jeans won't go up.

After some tugging, I manage to get them up, but I can't fully close the zipper, let alone fasten the button.

I put my shoes back on as someone is attempting to open the door again. I have to get out; I'll figure it out with my dad.

In less than a minute, I unlock the door after adjusting my sweatshirt to cover the open top of my jeans.

When I return to the table, my dad is already seated, and a server is setting our order down.

Those few steps from the restroom feel strange, or rather, it's the diaper that makes my steps feel strange. I'm walking differently, with a bit of a gap between my legs.

"I have a problem," I tell my dad, coming to a halt in front of him.

"Because of your diaper?" he asks, looking at my pants.

"Yeah, it's too big, and I can't close my jeans."

"True, your jeans are pretty tight. Let's eat while it's hot, and we'll figure it out later."

"But I can take it off."

"No, Simon, eat, we'll decide later."

I eat my burger and fries with little enjoyment. The diaper I'm wearing is uncomfortable, and I can feel it between my legs. I really don't like it.

I finish quickly, but my dad takes his time. It's only after about 10 minutes that he finishes his meal.

"Show me," he says.

"Here?"

"Yes, stand up and lift your sweatshirt slightly."

I do as he asks, and he signals me to come closer. He tries to pull up the zipper, but it won't budge.

"You see," I say, "it won't go up."

"Indeed, and I can only see one solution."

"Remove it?" I ask.

"No, change your pants. Diapers don't go well with jeans. We'll go get you some sweatpants. You'll be much more comfortable in them."

"Can we go home instead? I have some jeans that are a bit wider."

"We don't really have time for that. We need to leave for our appointment in 15 minutes. Follow me; we'll go to Kiabi. They have a store in the shopping mall."

0 notes

simonsholidays · 1 month

Text

Simon's holidays - Part 2: Shopping at the supermarket

Tuesday goes by, but I think a lot about the decision I made the day before. Did I make the right choice? I've asked myself the question many times, and the same answer keeps coming back when I think about getting my console at the end of the holidays.

Certainly, I'll have to go through this week. It won't necessarily be a walk in the park, even though it's still a daycare center. I also need to be careful not to reveal myself; I would have made all these efforts for nothing.

Without mentioning that I was going, I asked my friends if they were going to a daycare center for the holidays, and none of them are, thankfully. Tony told me that only babies go there... it was a bit hurtful, but well, I think the same, actually.

Wednesday morning arrives, and during breakfast with Dad, he reminds me of our appointment.

I haven't forgotten," I say. "Perfect, then. We have an appointment at 2 PM, but we'll go shopping around noon, I'll pick you up from school, and then we can eat at Burger King if you want." "Oh yes, great, it's been a while."

The morning feels long, very long indeed. The two hours of math are endless, not to mention the German and French classes. The school bell rings, and my friends and I leave the classroom and the schoolyard.

"Aren't you taking the bus?" Théo asks. "No, I'm having lunch in town with my dad." "Lucky you."

Well, maybe I'm lucky to have a burger for lunch, but not so much to go to that appointment. But I can't tell him that, of course.

"See you tomorrow, Théo." "See you tomorrow, Simon."

Dad is already here, and I get into the car. We head to the nearest shopping center, which houses a hypermarket and a Burger King.

"What are we going to buy?" I ask. "Diapers," Dad responds matter-of-factly. "What, right now? Here? In broad daylight? Couldn't you have done it without me?" "We're buying diapers for you, so you need to be here." I now understand why you suggested going to Burger King afterward... I hope we won't run into anyone I know; that would be too embarrassing. "We'll be careful, I promise."

Once we enter the shopping mall and then the supermarket, we immediately look for the diaper aisle.

When we find it, much to my dismay, we're not the only ones there. There's quite a crowd! It's as if everyone decided to do their shopping on the same day at the same time.

I quickly scan the area for familiar faces, but thankfully, there's no one I recognize. Among the people present, several are mothers with their children, and they're selecting diapers. I spot several diaper packages in their shopping carts.

Dad, on the other hand, starts searching among the hundreds of diaper packages. He approaches, takes some packages in his hands, and puts them back after reading them. I cautiously stay away to avoid any association with me.

"Simon, come closer and help me, please. We shouldn't spend all day here. You know, the longer we stay, the higher the chances of someone you know seeing us," Dad advises.

He has a point; what he says is true. So, I start looking as well. After three minutes of searching without any luck, Dad tells me he'll find someone to assist us.

I'm not thrilled about it, of course, but what else can we do? Maybe there are no diapers for my age, at least not here.

He returns promptly, accompanied by a saleswoman.

"They're right here," she says to Dad, pointing. "You mentioned that there were several models and brands, didn't you?" "Yes, that's correct. It's for an 11-year-old child." "Um, Dad, that was absolutely unnecessary."

"So, you need a model for older children, for boys. Here's what I suggest," she says, taking a package from the shelf and handing it to Dad.

Dad takes it in his hands and examines it. I can read the word "Drynites" on it.

"I think I've seen advertisements on TV for these diapers. Excuse me, I don't know much about this, but aren't these for nighttime?" "They work just fine during the day, no problem." "And are you sure about the size?" "Absolutely. Look here; it's written that it's suitable for children aged 8 to 15. Your son is right within that age range. Just be cautious the next time you buy them; the packaging for other sizes is quite similar." "That seems to fit what we're looking for." "Oh, but wait, we've recently stocked a new brand of diapers, Carryboo. It's similar to Drynites, and we've had very positive customer feedback. Here, take a look; it's this package." "What do you think, Simon?" Dad asks. "Which one should we get?"

I feel a little ashamed, or actually quite a lot. But who cares? A diaper is a diaper. Dad shows me the two packages he's holding. I quickly glance at them and feel like the second package looks less "diaper-like" because it doesn't have any designs on it.

"The second package," I say.

"Thank you for your help, madam," Dad says. "I'll take these."

While saying that, Dad puts the first package back on the shelf.

"Thank you. Have a good day, both of you, and good luck to you, young man," she adds with a smile.

Grrrr, what am I doing here?

"Alright, should I just take one package?" "I don't know, whatever," I say, turning around to see if anyone is eavesdropping. "Yeah, one is enough."

Dad and I head towards the exit. He opts for the self-checkout, which is great because I wouldn't have wanted that diaper package on the conveyor belt with other people's groceries.

Dad holds the package between his arm and body, which partially hides the label. I have the feeling he's doing his best to spare me the embarrassment.

The self-checkout lanes are occupied, but the line moves quickly. In less than two minutes of waiting, a lane opens up for us.

Dad scans the package and places it in the bagging area. He proceeds to make the payment and retrieves both the package and the receipt. I'm right behind him when we pass through the security gate, and suddenly it starts beeping.

Both of us halt in our tracks and wait for someone to come over. Dad is still holding the diaper package, and I sense that people are looking at us.

A security guard arrives promptly and asks Dad for his receipt. He examines it, glances at the diaper package, and then looks back at us.

Did he realize that these diapers were for me? I'm not sure, but in any case, he tells us we can go. Phew, that didn't last long.

"Let's go eat that burger," Dad says. "You've earned it. I'm proud of you."

I don't really feel like I've done something praiseworthy, but oh well.

A few dozen meters ahead is the Burger King; I can see it from where I'm standing. We start walking, and I realize that Dad is bringing the diaper package with us.

"But we don't even have a bag to put the diapers in. Aren't we going to take it inside?" I ask.

"It doesn't even look like a diaper package. No one will notice. We'll just place it on the seat."

Well, I hope he's right, but it's true that this package doesn't look like the diaper packages we were looking at in the store.

When we reach the restaurant, it's the peak of lunch hour, and there are quite a few people. However, I can see that there are still some empty tables.

0 notes

simonsholidays · 1 month

Text

Simon's holidays - Part 1: Dilemma

"Simon, come down, please."

Dad is calling me from the ground floor of the house, and he's annoying when he does that. If he wants to talk to me, he can come upstairs. I decide not to respond, to act as if I didn't hear him. It hasn't even been an hour since I got back from school, and I just want to be alone.

"Simon!"

Once again, I decide not to respond and put my headphones in my ears. This way, if he comes up to my room, I'll have an excuse for not having heard him.

As I lay on my bed with my headphones in, I see the door suddenly swing open.

"You could answer when I call you!" my dad says, clearly a little irritated.

"I didn't hear you," I say as I take off my headphones. "I was listening to music."

These past six months have been a bit complicated for both of us. Mom died of pancreatic cancer. Everything happened fairly quickly between her diagnosis and her death, in less than a year, she was gone.

My name is Simon, I'm 11 years old, and I'm an only child. Before, we were a typical family and had great moments together. Since mom's death, nothing is the same. Dad is always on my case, asking if I've done my homework, telling me to go wash up, waking me up early, even on the weekends. I really miss Mom. Besides, Dad might have found a job recently. He stopped working to take care of Mom and remained unemployed for a few months after her death.

Dad seems a bit upset, and I'm not sure what he wants to tell me. Is it to say that his interview didn't go well?

"Like I mentioned, I had an interview today. I just got back from their place. It's not very close, and the trip took me about 45 minutes, but I like the job they're offering, and I'm going to say yes."

I'm glad. If Dad works again, he'll be away from home more often, especially if it's far. At least he won't be home when I get back from school, so I can play video games. He's strict about it; he always wants me to do my homework first, and he doesn't want me to play for more than 30 minutes a day.

"That's great," I say without really explaining why I'm so happy.

"I am happy, yes. It will be good for me to get out of the house and see people again. You know, Simon, we've talked about this before, and I know these past months haven't been easy for you, but they haven't been easy for me either."

I know that all too well, yes! It has affected both of us, even though we didn't experience it the same way. We weren't necessarily very close before Mom's death, and it hasn't improved afterward. We only talk when it's absolutely necessary, and we don't share much with each other.

"It's almost the holidays," he continues, "they're coming up really fast. It's Monday, and they start on Saturday."

Oh, yes, I had almost forgotten about the holidays. That's great; I'll be home alone for a week. I'll be able to sleep in, eat whenever I want, and play as much video games as I please.

"I know you wouldn't mind staying home alone, but I don't want it to go that way." "Why? Don't you trust me?" "It's not really a matter of trust," he says, "but more about safety and lifestyle. I can imagine how it would go; I wasn't born yesterday, I was young once too." "Ah, so because you didn't follow your parents' rules when you were my age, you think I won't either?" "Simon, don't take me for a fool either. We both know how it would go. Anyway, that's not the point of this conversation; I don't want you to stay home alone."

I'm disappointed by what my dad is telling me. I could have had some peace, but it seems I won't.

"So, where am I going, then?" "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I see two possible solutions. The deadline is very short, and these are the only options I have."

I wonder what my dad is going to propose, and I'm somewhat anxious. I'm really afraid that I won't like what he's going to say.

"I haven't called them yet to see if it's possible, but the first option is to go to your grandparents." "You mean grandpa and grandma?" "Don't call them that; you know they don't like it. But yes, I'm talking about your mom's parents." "The answer is a straight 'no,' I absolutely do not want to go there. The last time didn't go very well."

The summer before, I had gone to stay with them for the holidays. I had never been there alone, and my parents had told me it would be great. Well, it was far from great. I wasn't allowed to do anything; they were stricter than my parents. I even asked my parents if I could come back early. I was bored like I'd never been before! On the second day, we had a big argument, and I stayed locked in my room, not wanting to come out.

On the day of departure, I didn't even say goodbye to them, and Mom was quite angry with me. I'll never set foot there again.

"I knew you'd say that," he replied. "The second option I have is the leisure center."

"But leisure centers are for little kids. You go there when you're in primary school, not when you're in middle school!"

"I'm almost certain it's not a matter of academic level but rather an age-related issue. I believe they can accommodate children from 3 to 12 years old. I inquired about it three years ago, and that's what I was told."

"But Dad, none of my friends go to such places!"

"You can make new friends there! Or even suggest that your friends sign up too."

What a bummer this leisure center thing is! I might end up with little kids, doing little kid activities.

"What's your decision, Simon?" Dad asks me.

"Well, I don't really have a choice. I'll go to the center."

"I just hope they have space. I'll call right away. And if they don't, you'll go to your grandparents'."

Dad then leaves my room, and I hear him go down the stairs. I also step out of my room and head to the landing, so I can eavesdrop on the conversation. From where I am, I can see him, but he can't see me. He taps on his phone for a few seconds, probably looking for the phone number, and then he puts his smartphone on speaker.

"Youth Service, Constance speaking."

Dad then explains the purpose of his call.

"I won't hide from you that it's going to be very complicated," the lady explains. "We already have a lot of reservations. I'll check the various leisure centers in the community. Can you remind me of your son's age?"

"He's 11 years old."

A few seconds pass before the lady responds again.

"In this category, I'm afraid we don't have any available spots left in any of the centers. I'm really sorry. Unless... let me take a few more seconds to check..."

"Yes, please tell me."

"After checking, I have one spot left in the Marots leisure center, but it's reserved for children with disabilities."

Dad doesn't respond immediately; it's as if he's thinking about what to say. I'm not disabled, so he can't answer yes; it would be immediately noticeable.

"I didn't want to bring this up to avoid highlighting it," my dad says, "but my son has issues with incontinence. Does that classify him as a child with a disability?"

I can't believe my ears! Dad is saying that I'm handicapped? That can't be true. Besides, I don't even know what "incontinent" means.

"Yes, of course," the lady responds. "That's perfect, then. We need to fill out a form as soon as possible to secure the date. When can you come?" "Wednesday afternoon, is that possible for you?" "I have a slot available at 2 PM." "Very well, I'll take that slot then. I'm Mr. Mitonno." "I've noted that in my calendar. Please take notes; I'll give you a list of the documents you'll need to bring: vaccination certificate, family record book, tax statement, proof of address, and a doctor's certificate stating that your child is disabled." "I've written it all down. Thank you. See you on Wednesday. Thank you, ma'am, and have a good day."

As soon as Dad hung up, I went back to my room. I don't want to show Dad that I overheard the conversation, and I prefer to wait for him to come to me. What I did catch, though, is that he'll need a medical certificate, and that's bound to be a problem. What doctor would be willing to provide a false certificate? Certainly not our doctor; Dad really doesn't like him, and I can't imagine him asking for that.

As soon as I closed the door, I grabbed my phone and typed the word "incontinent" into the search bar. Fortunately, the autocomplete feature helped me find the correct spelling. I started the search and found the definition.

I read the first result: "Lacking restraint or moderation," and I didn't really understand the meaning; it can't be that. I read the second definition: "Unable to control the discharge of feces or urine," with an example sentence: "An incontinent child."

My throat tightens. Is my dad trying to send me to a leisure center by making me out to be someone who wets or soils themselves? No, it can't be possible; he can't do that! I really can't believe what I just heard.

Shortly after, while I'm still lost in my thoughts, Dad enters my room. My throat has been tight since I overheard the conversation.

"I found a spot," Dad says without saying more.

"Where is it?" I ask.

"In a leisure center, very close by, actually."

"And was there space?"

"Yes, we have an appointment on Wednesday afternoon to complete your registration."

Dad doesn't seem to want to address the question that has been on my mind for a while. I'm not sure how to make him talk about it without telling him that I overheard the conversation. How does he think it's going to work if I'm at the center and I don't have the disability he told them about?

He does seem to hesitate, and I think he's afraid to talk to me about it, especially about my reaction.

"It's just that..."

"That what?" I ask impatiently, eager to see how he's going to broach the subject.

"I told them that you have a disability, that you have accidents... or more precisely, urinarya leaks."

"But that's not true! I'm not incontinent!"

As soon as I blurt out that word, I know that Dad understands that I overheard his conversation with the lady.

"You eavesdropped on my phone call, didn't you?"

"Yes, I listened, and it's ridiculous! You're willing to lie to get me to go to that leisure center."

"Simon, I did it for your sake! So you wouldn't have to go to your grandparents."

I can't believe he's saying he did it for me!

"But wait, if you tell them that I wet myself, and they see that I don't, they'll realize you lied to them. And how are you going to get the medical certificate? You're not going to do it yourself, I assume?"

"I'll take care of the certificate. I think I can manage to get one. As for the accidents, you'll have to actually have them, or they'll figure it out, yes, you're right."

"So you expect me to wet myself in broad daylight in front of everyone? In front of adults, but also kids? They'll make fun of me, I'll be the laughingstock of everyone. There's no way I'm doing that!"

I'm angry, and I think my tone of voice makes it clear to my dad.

"That's why I thought about the solution of wearing protections..."

"What is that?" I ask, annoyed.

"They're also called diapers."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're telling me. Let me rephrase: you want me to wear diapers like babies, is that it? I'm 11, Dad! I'm too old for that."

"Yes, that's exactly it, you understood perfectly."

"Even if I did, and I emphasize the word 'if,' the others would make fun of me! Can you imagine a boy my age in diapers?"

"You know, this condition actually exists. There are really people your age, and even older, who suffer from it and wear protection to make it inconspicuous. Because, yes, wearing a diaper is not visible. No one sees what's under people's clothes."

"I'll follow your thought," I say. "Let's assume I wear one, and it's not visible. If I don't pee in it, the leisure center staff will also realize it's fake, and they'll kick me out."

"That's why you'll have to play the role of an incontinent boy. If they ever catch on that we made a fool of them, they'll terminate the contract, and you'll be forced to go to your grandparents."

Dad is really putting me in a tough spot. He wants me to lie, to make a fool of myself by wearing diapers and wetting them. I can't accept that.

"I can't even believe you're asking me this; it's out of the question." "So, do you prefer to go to your grandparents?" "I don't prefer anything. I can't accept either of your two propositions." "And if I offered to buy you the new gaming console you've been asking for for over a year, would that help you decide?"

Dad is trying to buy me, offering me a deal! I really want that PS5. I've been bugging him for months to get it, and he always says it's too expensive.

"So, if I go to my grandparents, you'll buy me a console to take with me?" "No, of course not. If I offer to buy the console, it's for the option of the leisure center. Sending you to your grandparents would cost me money, and I don't have much right now. The leisure center option is much less costly, and the difference could cover the purchase of your console."

It's a tough dilemma. In essence, either I go to my grandparents and don't get my new console, or I go to this leisure center for five days and get a console.

"Okay, I'll go to the center!" "Be careful; let's be clear about this. You will need to genuinely appear as a child with incontinence until the end of the week. I'd even say until your 12th birthday and you're no longer eligible for a leisure center." "What do you mean?" "If, during other holidays, you can't go to your grandparents either, you'll have to return to that leisure center, and they must have no doubts that you faked your incontinence issues."

Oh yeah, so it's not just five days, after all... But we'll see about that when the time comes.

"And will I be allowed to play for more than 30 minutes a day?" "Don't push your luck; we'll see when the time comes. Just succeed in what I'm proposing first, and we'll decide." "The deal works for me; I accept."

As my dad says, no one but the center staff should see my diaper hidden under my clothes. And even if a 5-year-old did see it, why would they tell anyone? Plus, I can probably go to the bathroom discreetly. What bothers me the most is having to wet my diaper at least once a day. But if that's all it takes to get a new console, I'm willing to make that sacrifice!

0 notes