Mary and Daphne #28 (Patreon)

It was hot out, okay? It’s not like I was naked. I just decided that with it being so hot, if I was determined to work in my new garden, as I was, that it would be more comfortable to do in my one-piece swimsuit.

And sun is very damaging, so I put on my floppy hat. Okay? I am very aware of the dangers of too much sun, from heat exhaustion to dehydration to melanoma to looking like a dried up old purse.

There’s nothing wrong with my one-piece either. It’s blue and has purple piping down the side. Back when I swam competitively in high school, our competition swimsuits looked pretty much like it. I don’t mind saying I look pretty fit in my one-piece, never mind my little one-piece/leotard fetish. A fit woman in a sexy swimsuit wearing a floppy hat is a fashion icon, right? Sexy as hell.

The only problem, as far as I could see, is that Mary had declared it a pull-up day, and to my now-horror, I didn’t even think about how that would look under my suit. I just got dressed like normal, slipped on my flip flops, and walked outside. Which means this has been normalized. I’d like to think I’d have thought it through more if she declared a diaper day.

I’m becoming a good little gardener. We can eat a meal right out of the garden. My chard survived its illness, my lettuce and arugula did well, my carrots are coming along, there are peas, and I even planted potatoes, anti-potato hysterics be damned. I kinda wanna start keeping chickens.

Nana has helped at a distance, and she even gave us some cuttings from her garden. I was tending to one of those cuttings when she stuck her head through the gate of our privacy fence. “Uh oh,” she said.

“Hi, Nana. What’s ‘uh oh’?”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“Nope.” I hadn’t gotten in trouble in five – count ‘em! – five whole days thanks to a sharp curtailing of Birthday Girl privileges. I learned a long time ago if you keep acting like a Birthday Girl after your birthday, you’re in for a butt warming.

“I see a little palm print on your thigh. And you’re wearing a pull-up again.” Was I blushing from head to toe, or is it just the sun?

“That was a love pat,” I assured her, “and Mary put it out for me, so I put it on.”

“Is that a rule,” she asked as she took a seat on our retaining wall.” I think she’s getting curious about how our relationship works, like an anthropologist from vanilla land trying to suss out the inner workings of our kinky little society of two.

“Hmm,” I said when I thought about it for a beat. “No, come to think of it, unless she tells me to, which she doesn’t often. Sometimes she just lays something out for me.”

“Well, it looks adorable with that swimsuit. Sorry, I know you hate it when people say stuff like that, but you are a precious sight sometimes. My granddaughter has a floppy hat just like that for the beach.” What, does she mean her othergranddaughter or something? I mean, come the crap on. “And you look sorta like the girl on the sunscreen bottle,” she tacked on for fun.

“Uh-uh! No, I do not.”

“She has red hair like yours.”

“Well, yeah but she has ... she has freckles. And she’s wearing a two-piece. With ruffles!”

“The way your pull-up is sticking out kinda looks like ruffles.”

I hate these things. I hate these things. I hate these things. I hate these things.

“But ... dammit.” I couldn’t think of another retort. Though the girl on the bottle isn’t wearing sunglasses, now that I think on it.

Nana chuckled at me and said, “Don’t take it the wrong way. I just think ...”

“I know. I’m cute. Sylph-like and adorable. That’s me. An adorabilibuddy.”

“Oh my, that’s just the most perfect word. Did you think of that?”

“Maybe. I don’t remember. Maybe I saw it somewhere once.”

She got more serious. “You don’t like being adorable?” She patted the retaining wall, and I walked over and hopped up at the right distance. I wouldn’t mind a nana hug. I’d take a hug from just about anybody these days.

“I don’t mind it. It’s just ... that seems to be what people see first these days. Not that we’ve seen any new people in three months.” I wanna be sexy, too, not just cute. And hello! Complex woman over here! Just because I’m petite and spunky doesn’t make me a manic pixie dream girl. For one thing, I’m way too filthy minded to be one of those. And I have layers; those don’t have layers.

“Well, you are cute, and also, if the opinion of an old lady helps, a beautiful and confident and empathetic and smart woman. I’ve always admired you.”

“Well, I am a role model for the world’s youth,” I joked.

“And funny, too,” Nana chuckled. “Your garden is coming along so nicely.”

“I take all the credit. People doubted me when I said if you plant a seed it will turn into a plant, but you can’t argue with success.” This is the first time I’ve ever planted something that didn’t die, which may have to do with me actually taking care of it. I once killed a cactus by not watering it enough.

“Maybe that’s what you should study when you go back to school,” Nana said.

“I don’t think I quite have the talents for horticulture. Too much science.”

“What about landscape design?”

“Hmm. I’ll have to think about that.” I could see me doing that. Bossing around laborers, being outside, charging $100 an hour to say, put a rock there.

“What are my two favorite people talking about,” Mary asked as she strode across our lawn like the queen of my universe that she is. I don’t think I’ve ever strode. I’ve for sure never bestrided. Mary has, but she has longer legs than me.

“Going back to school,” I chimed in. “Nana thinks I should study mortuary science.”

“Funny and smart-alecky,” Nana responded. “Adorable, smart, beautiful, and a smart-aleck. I was suggesting she think about studying landscape design.”

Mary was right in front of me, looking directly at me, in that almost predatorial way she has sometimes. Like I’m a field mouse and she’s sleek kitten with murder mittens just waiting to pounce on me and swat me back and forth. “Taking a break from work,” I asked.

“She did turn out to have a little green thumb,” Mary said, ignoring my question and taking my hands in hers, kissing my fingers and putting my hands back in my lap. I’m starting to suspect she likes me or something.

“I like it,” I said. “It’s like I made an onion. The onion made itself, but it sorta feels like I did it ... I’m very god-like.” Now that I think about it.

“Ha! Of course you are,” Mary said as she hopped up on the wall next to me. “How are your pants,” she whispered to me. I should’ve guessed. Never does she take a break and not ask that question, or just reach down and check, if I’m wearing something other than panties. I’ve decided it’s just something she does because she’s bored and watching me get all blushy has fewer calories than other distractions. All I can say for myself is that now that I’m not working and procrastinating, I find myself eating a lot fewer carbs. I think shareholder capitalism was making me, well, not fat, but definitely hangry and a little fluffier than I should be. I just nodded in response to Mary’s question. A very shallow nod. A surreptitious nod, in fact. Furtive. And I didn’t say anything because sometimes when I get all blushy I cover it by starting to ramble, talking well past the point that I actually have a point to make and wandering to unrelated topics and did you know e equals mc2 and just not letting something go or end or be over or come to a close or ... see?

“How’s your workday going,” I asked.

“A little slow. I was thinking of taking the afternoon off.”

“Yes, please.”

“Too bad the pool isn’t open,” Nana said. “Even a wrinkled thing like me wouldn’t mind a dip.”

“Actually, I was thinking about getting a pool,” Mary said. Did we come into twenty thousand dollars I didn’t know about.

“We can’t afford that,” I said.

“I mean a wading pool. We can we get a big inflatable one just to have somewhere to cool off. We can put it on the deck.”

“That’s kinda a brilliant idea,” I said. I could see myself spending the summer that way, like a complete lush with no shame whatsoever, sitting in a blow-up pool drinking frozen margaritas. I wouldn’t go so far as say that’s how nature intended for me to be, but it has its appeal.

“She does look overheated,” Nana volunteered.

“I’m okay. Just a little warm.”

“You’re awfully sweaty,” Mary said.

“Excuse me, darling spouse,” I said a little haughtily, “it’s called glistening. I glisten.” I glow, like all sylph-like creatures.

Mary hopped down off the wall and walked inside. I didn’t know if I had been a little too haughty or what, but I didn’t think I did or said anything to deserve a punishment. I do glisten. Kinda a lot sometimes, but it’s still early in the season. I’m just not used to the heat yet, and besides, I was working in the dirt, not like some cosseted laptop jockey like Mary. We salt of the earth types tend to glisten a lot, and I’ve only been the salt of the earth for a couple months. Learning is hard work.

She came back out with a glass of water in one hand, her other hand hidden, and a look I couldn’t decipher. I did not deserve a spanking, much less in front of Nana, which mercifully hadn’t happened yet (well, not exactly, at least not on purpose), but I could hardly throw an anti-spanking tantrum in front of her either. That would just compound the embarrassment, so I sat there with my heart in my throat for for all thirty steps of Mary’s across the yard.

Instead of an implement, Mary produced three popsicles. “A banana for my favorite little girl,” Mary said. “It’s her favorite,” she said to Nana as she handed her one.

It is my favorite, and “I’m not a little girl. I made leafy greens from scratch,” I added by way of proof. “Plus,” I proudly proclaimed looking at Nana, “I’m not afraid to eat the habaneros I grew, unlike some people.”

Nana shook her head and chuckled again. I guess she was in a chuckling mood. “I’m sorry, Daffy, but you are too cute. There’s just no two ways about it. That outfit, with the droopy little hat and the pink pull-up and the popsicle – too much.”

So we’re not even gonna talk about my chili eating prowess? I once tried real ghost pepper at a fair, and I only cried a little.

“You should see her when she has her binky in,” Mary said off handedly.

“Her what?”

“I got her an adult pacifier to help her keep her mouth from getting her in trouble. You know what a Sassy Mollassy she can be.”

I looked at my garden. My big shovel was all the way in the garage, too far to help me dig a hole to hide in. And what the hell is a ‘Mollassy?’

“Where on earth did you find an adult pacifier,” Nana asked.

“You should see some of the stuff you can find on online. Especially Etsy. Just the other day I found Sailor Moon underoos in her size.”

Well, us big girls wear panties, not undies, but Sailor Moon is awesome and so much better than the stuff decorating the many pairs of junior miss department panties she’s made me wear over the years. I very nearly asked if she got them for me, and if not, why on earth not? I made a potato from scratch; surely that deserves a reward, even if the junior miss panties are supposed to be a punishment or reminder to behave or whatever. Why couldn’t I marry a normal person who punishes me by taking things away such as – random example – my panties? And that is a thing normies do right? I have no ideas how normies work. Guess I’ve been chin deep in abnormies for too long, or at least one abnormie (who I like lots).

“Huh,” was what Nana said. “Well, just be sure you leave some of that sass right where it is. She just too funny.”

“Don’t I know it. She’s been so good lately, too. Wonder how much longer that’ll last.”

“Indefinitely. I am thirty-one years old, ya know.”

“Where did that little outburst come from,” Mary asked. She was having way too much fun. “Does someone need a nap?”

“Mary,” I said in a stentorian, sonorous, authoritative voice that others always mischaracterize as whining.

“She’s just teasing you, sweetie. Right, Mary?”

“Nana,” I said a little less authoritatively.

“Ooh, I wish I had a picture of you when you get all pouty.”

“We have quite the scrapbook. I got one of her with her little bottom in the air playing in the dirt just before you came over,” Mary assured her.

“Excuse me! I wasn’t playing. I was ... tidying up the garden because I’m bored and I’m making up chores to do.”

“That’s a good thing,” Nana said. “When mine were young, when they’d get bored I always used to say, ‘Find something to do, or I’ll find something for you to do.’ Suddenly they had all kinds of ideas that weren’t vacuuming or washing windows.”

One of her what? Her wives? I’d get mad at Nana except she doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s not trying to embarrass me the way Mary sometimes does. She just sees me like Mary sees me, minus the kinky part. Which is actually weirder in a way. But whatever. Kinda hard to deny I like it in a weird way. Erotic humiliation is just my burden to bear, like my adorabilibuddyness.

And unlike Nana, Mary knew exactly what she was doing. She had definitely decided to take the afternoon off.