Chapter #5Diapered at home by: R682  
"Daniel, this is unacceptable," your mother slaps the report card down on the table in front of you. You can see the wild stare in her eyes again, and question if there's even any hope in appealing to her using reason, or if the only thing to do is remain silent.
"It's... not that bad..." you hesitate awkwardly, wondering if you're only making things worse for yourself. "Mr Farmer just doesn't like me, that's all..."
"That's not all," your mother bangs the table once again for emphasis. "Grade C in Maths? And even worse in Design Technology? Not to mention RE!"
"Nobody gets a good grade in RE," you protest. "It's not even an exam subject, so it really doesn't matter."
"Doesn't matter?" your mother echoes your words, fixing you with a deathly stare. "How are you ever going to get a decent job, if all you ever manage is a 'C' in Maths, and all you ever think is 'it doesn't matter'?!" By now you've decided there's no point arguing; better just to let the tsunami run its course. "If your attitude to everything is 'it doesn't matter'," your mother descends into familiar hyperbole, "I wouldn't be surprised if you ended up peeing in your pants like a little baby."
"Yeah, right," you can't help yourself but offer a sullen grunt. Why does everything always end up coming back to bodily functions with her? It was funny when you were little, but now...
"Maybe you should find out what that's like?" your mother suggests, incensed by your eye-rolling. "What it means to go all the way back to when even the potty 'doesn't matter'? Do you think you'd maybe find a little motivation then?"
"I don't know," you shrug defiantly, trying to remain the vaguely rational one, and not entertain your mother's bizarre threatening. "But, obviously, you can't do that."
"Can't I?" she locks eyes with you, bitterly, before plucking an old key off the shelf behind her. "Perhaps you've forgotten whose house it is? Who owns the bathroom key?"
"Don't be ridiculous," you groan. "So, what's your great plan now? Lock me out of the bathroom, and what? I have to pee in the garden? You really want stinky roses?"
Apparently your scorn was definitely the wrong way to go. Your mother doubles down in a heartbeat, and suddenly, looking into her eyes, you get the sense that she might actually be serious.
"You can wear a diaper," she tells you grimly. "I was a nurse, remember, before I got fired. It doesn't matter too much to me. You can be diapered the whole summer holiday if needs be, or until I'm sure that attitude has improved. So, what do you think of that?"
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