I was born on a day when there
was thunder and lightning; the wind was blowing hard and the windows were
rattling their butts off. It was a large room with plenty of lights, there were
many people in the room – they took turns handling me. I straight away
understood that they all knew the purpose of my birth for they had a sad,
disgusted look when they held me in their hands.
I was soon wrapped even though I
was not feeling cold. I was put in a room with many others just like me. So
many others just like me. So many that it was starting to feel suffocating and
sweaty and claustrophobic and smelly. But we all knew our lives were going to get
much worse than this. There was gloom filling what little air we had inside the
awful room.
Then one day, the room was
opened. Light. There was so much light and so much air to breathe. There was
laughter. There was pink. There were cartoons. We had never known happiness and
now we knew how it felt. All of a sudden I was pulled out of the room and laid
down beside a baby. The baby was pretty rude as it started attacking me.
Before I knew it, I was stuck to
the bottom of the baby. There is no need to say that it was smelly. It became
worse when the baby pooped. When I say worse, it is in the vicinity of watching
a Sajid Khan movie while getting your legs waxed and listening to the baby
scream because it had gas. Oh that reminds of the smell of its gas, of which I
know so much more than you ever will.
I am a diaper. We have feelings
too, you know.
Disclaimer: The author of this post was in an emotionally vulnerable
state after changing a particularly stinking diaper while writing this.
P.S: Sorry for not putting the disclaimer at the beginning of the post. :-D
