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Tina rummaged through her purse. Her heart was pounding, and she had a prickling feeling all over her skin, as though she were being attacked by a swarm of microscopic wasps. She gritted her teeth as she ran through her mental checklist. She had her wallet, her keys, her driver's license, make-up, chap stick, pacifier...

She shoved the last item into her mouth, desperate to hold off another crying fit. She hadn't left the house in over a week. The television was still bombarding her psyche with one bizarre commercial after another. She had known that something was wrong even before the things from the screen began to appear in her apartment. The pacifier in her mouth was one example, but the baby bottles that had begun appearing in her refrigerator made it clear that whatever this was, it would not go away on its own. Her frequent bouts of crying had already cost her her job (not a great job, she would be the first to admit, but still), and she was beginning to feel trapped. Every time she tried to summon the will to leave, the enormity of what she was considering would crash on her like a pile of bricks, and she would be back on the couch sobbing with her soother and her blankie, watching helplessly to the incessant messages that “Our Sponsors” were sending her. It was on now, and Tina couldn't help but steal glances at the screen. This one was one of those pointlessly enigmatic ads, where they try to conceal what is being advertised until the very end. The screen lingered on a nearly-still black-and-white image of a bulge of glossy material, while sophisticated orchestra music was played. A stream of vague adjectives in italic script appeared one by one on the screen, each lingering for a moment before disappearing.

Comfy

Luxurious

Warm

Tight

Secure

Thick

Crinkly

Bulging

Obvious

Silly

Cute

Tina was no fool. She could tell what she was being driven towards. This wasn't another artsy ad for perfume or designer luggage. She sucked on her pacifier more quickly. She knew that it was a gift from “Our Sponsors”, and thus unlikely to be helpful in escaping their influence, but the simple fact was that she needed it. It was the only thing she had to help her keep her emotions under some kind of control. She realized that she was at a crossroads. Whatever malevolent force was behind the ads, they wanted to reduce her to a helpless, bawling mess. She had to escape. She had to re-assert her independence. She had to reclaim her adulthood.

She needed some groceries. That was the course she decided on, and she refused to be diverted, no matter how great the resistance. She had a list. It had taken her hours to complete, and parts of it were smudged with tears, but it was done. She needed bread, eggs, peanut butter, lunchmeat, refried beans, tortillas, a gallon of milk, tampons, toilet paper, and some dish soap. That was all. She had spent days working up the courage to make the attempt. She didn't understand how such a simple chore could feel like a trip up Mount Everest, but it did. She was being locked into a cycle, a downward spiral, and she knew that unless she broke out soon, it would be too late.

She felt her eyes tear up again. She sucked harder at the pacifier. Again, she thought of the bottles in the fridge. She hadn't touched any of them, but she knew that popping one in her mouth would make her feel so much better. She had to struggle with herself every time she opened the fridge door. She had never tasted them, but she knew that they would be cool, refreshing, creamy, and oh so sweet. They had been very well-advertised. She shook her head, trying to shake out the siren call of those shiny rubber nipples.

She rummaged through her purse again. She checked her list again. She checked her make-up in the mirror again. She narrowed her eyes in determination. She bit her pacifier. She opened the front door.

The fresh air and warm sunlight felt alien to her. She reached her car, put the key in the ignition with trembling fingers, and started it up without trouble. She set out toward the commercial end of town.

The world had changed, as she knew that it must have. She hadn't seen a news bulletin in some time. Traffic was very light. Tina guessed that many people must be in position similar to her own. Stuck in their homes, assaulted with mind-bending sounds and images, growing more helpless and docile by the day.

The ads were spilling out into the streets, now. Barely one in three of the billboards she passed was still displaying normal advertisements for local lawyers, dentists, and politicians. Instead she passed a large sign showing a gross-looking public restroom, with the caption “Not Even Once” in angry red lettering. She saw a glamour picture of a woman in a vest and sunhat, climbing a mountain with the aid of a walking stick. The caption read “Explore in Comfort”, and there was only the barest hint of white peaking out from the waist of her noticeably-puffy khaki shorts.

Tina barely caught herself in time to avoid rear-ending the car in front of her. She pinned down the break and shut her eyes for a moment. She wondered if she was in a fit state to drive. She didn't feel drunk, exactly. She would have been a lot more relaxed if she were. She sucked even more fiercely on her pacifier. She knew she couldn't afford to burst into tears right now.

The SUV behind her started honking. She realized that she was stopped in front of a green light. She jumped in her seat and drove on in a panic. She knew she shouldn't be driving like this, but conceding that would mean letting the ads win. She was a mature, independent woman, and she was fully capable of driving to the store for some groceries. She muttered it to herself over and over as she drew into the parking lot.

She stood breathing heavily and sucking her pacifier in front of the main entrance. She was grateful that the parking lot was practically deserted. She tucked her pacifier into her pocket, gritted her teeth, and put one foot in front of the other. The air conditioning washed over her as the sliding doors closed behind her.

“Welcome! Can I help you find anything?” said a woman in a green apron. She had an extremely shiny smile and a Midwestern accent.

“...fine. Thanks.” muttered Tina. She reflexively avoided eye contact and hurried past into the interior of the store. The first thing she wanted was to find a secluded aisle to collect herself in. She kept walking until she was sure she was alone, then pulled out her pacifier and sucked on it like it was her oxygen supply. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her heart rate and breathing gradually settled down. She realized that she would need a basket to carry everything on her list. She realized that running into the store like that might attract the interest of security. She needed another round of calming down after those thoughts. She was in the store for almost two minutes before her surroundings began to make an impression on her.

The music was different, for one thing. She was used to tuning out grocery store music, but the cheery, simplistic tune they were playing now stood out to her. It sounded like something out of a music box. The smell was odd, too. The smell of a grocery store was the kind of thing that usually fades into the background of the mind. She sniffed the air thoughtfully. She realized with a start that she standing next to a large display of baby powder. She hadn't realized that they sold so many different brands of it here. How had she ended up in the baby aisle? Had she subconsciously wanted to come here? No, she decided after walking a short distance up the aisle. The actual reason was a lot worse.

Tina left the aisle and tried another, but she found only rows of neatly-arranged doll furniture and cases of powdered baby formula. She wandered the store, and the aisles containing the sensible items on her shopping list continued to allude her. She walked past shelf after shelf of infantile merchandise. Rack upon rack of stuffed animals, jars of baby food, bibs, onesies, pacifiers, bottles, footie pajamas, all arranged in no discernible order, and all clearly sized for adults. She began to wonder if coming here had been a terrible mistake.

“But...but...I'm a big girl!” came a shy, whining voice from the next aisle. Tina immediately felt drawn to the young woman's voice. She sounded like she was going through the same kind of personal crisis as Tina herself.

“Honey...now we both know that isn't true.” said another woman's voice. Nothing in the voices suggested a difference in age, despite what her maternal tone suggested. This voice was smooth, gentle, and very clearly in control. “You can't go around in big-girl panties if you're just going to wet them over and over. I have to keep buying you new clothes, and I'm not made of money. These will keep you nice and dry. Don't you want to be a nice dry girl for me?”

The first voice sniffled. She was either crying or close to it. Tina felt herself begin tearing up in sympathy. “I...(sniff)...I can't heeeelp it!”

“Ooooh, I know, sweetie!” said the other voice. It was full of saccharine, phony sympathy. “You just keep peeing all over yourself, and you can't do a thing about it, can you? You feel your bladder get fuller and fuller, and you don't know what to do about it at all. But that's okay! It really is. I think it's adorable that you're turning into a sweet little pantswetter for me. Look at you, holding your hands between your legs, trying to hold it all in! So cute!”

“S-stop it! You're making me...you're making me...” the shy voice was definitely crying now.

“Shhhh. No, honey. I'm not making you do anything. You're just not used to feeling so out of control. Oh, it must be so scary for you! To know that your bladder is getting softer and weaker all the time. To know that it's just a matter of time before you have another accident. To know that you need to be checked and powdered and wiped and fussed over from now on! Go ahead, honey. I know you can't help it. I know you need to be my little diaper-dependent princess again. So, let's go ahead and make it official! Show me how much you need your Mommy to put you back in diapers. Come on, let me see some sopping wet big-girl pants!”

Tina tugged her pacifier out as she charged around the corner. She had to confront that cloying, poisonous voice. She had to protect that woman who was on the verge of being broken. What she saw when she turned the corner was an entire aisle devoted to diapers. Thousands of plastic packages towered around her, all showing blissfully smiling women as they lounged around in their diapers. The woman who was sobbing appeared to be about college-age. She had short, black hair and sported a pair of torn, faded jeans and a black tank top that proudly displayed the Anarchist symbol. She hung her head, and bounced on the soles of her feet as she desperately pressed against her crotch. Her companion turned her smiling face on Tina like a flashlight as she approached. She had bright red hair in a ponytail, and wore cashmere sweater and gray yoga pants.

“Alright, whatever you think you're doing, it needs to stop! I...” Tina trailed off as the realization hit. The woman didn't seem to have heard her. Her eyes shone with warmth and empathy. Her teeth were very, very shiny. Her hair was perfect, without a single strand out of place. Her skin didn't show the faintest spot or wrinkle.

“My little Amy can sure be a handful sometimes! But it was a real blow to her tough-girl self-image when she started wetting the bed!”

Tina stared. It was a commercial. In front of her. In the aisle. The woman spoke to her as if she were announcing to an audience, or as though Tina were holding an invisible camera. The other woman, Amy, looked up at her with a tear-streaked face as her too-perfect “Mommy” rattled off the script. Amy was real, Tina decided. She was another prisoner of this insane place. The other one, the one speaking, was not. She was one of them. Perhaps one of the “Sponsors”, or perhaps only something they had created. Something that shouldn't exist outside of a television screen. Looking at her, Tina was certain that her blood was nothing but moodily-lit toothpaste and she only pissed a mysterious blue liquid. It wasn't just the woman herself, either. The world around her had become soft-focused. The colors were too bright, and the lines were faintly blurred. Upbeat music began playing, not from the store's sound system, but seemingly from the air itself.

“I hoped that it would go away on it's own, but it just got worse and worse. Pretty soon, Amy was waking up wet every morning, and that's when the daytime accidents began! Wet pants are no fun at all, are they, sweety?

Tina watched as a dark spot spread through Amy's crotch and ran down both her legs, in time to the false woman's words. Her face was downcast and shaking as she wet herself. To Tina's surprise, she shook her head in response to the question.

“Embarrassing for her, and expensive for me! That's why I reached for Happy-Pants!” the woman with the shiny grin pulled a bulging package delicately off the shelf. The logo featured a smiling yellow sun in place of the hyphen, and Salma Hayek modeled the product beneath. Amy looked up as her “Mommy” tore the package open and pulled a thick square of white padding free. Her distress seemed to rapidly melt away, replaced with awe and excitement.

“Happy-Pants are thick and absorbent, and so, so, comfy! Their two-tape design and comfort waistband makes changes a snap, and I can always trust that Happy-Pants will stay snug and secure all day, no matter what little Amy gets up to!” Amy was getting a diaper change. In the aisle, in plain sight. Tina could only stare, transfixed, as the thing shaped like a woman stripped off Amy's wet jeans and thong and laid her on a colorful changing mat. The process of wiping and powdering was over almost as soon as it began. It all happened so quickly, but without any visible hurry, as though the whole procedure had been carefully trimmed to fit the commercial slot. Amy's cheeks were still burning, but she broke into a wide grin as her first pair of Happy-Pants were secured around her waist with the smooth efficiency of an assembly line. The smiling sun logo shone from the front panel. The sound of the tapes squeaking and crackling as they were gently secured was much louder than normal.

“One change, and my little princess is ready to play for hours! I can trust Happy-Pants to keep her dry and comfortable, no matter what her weak little bladder throws at them! Best of all, Happy-Pants are much too thick to ever be hidden, so my little Amy's days of stomping around pretending to be a big girl are definitely over!”

Amy now stood proudly beside her Mommy. Her old clothes had vanished, and so had her tears. Her face was the very image of elation as her new, reduced status was proudly announced.

“One look, and everyone will know that you're Mommy's Little Diaper Girl!” said the beautiful, fake woman, patting Amy's well-padded rear for the “camera”. The anarchist symbol was gone. Amy was now wearing a bright yellow t-shirt with “Mommy's Little Diaper Girl” printed across it in pink lettering. Just as advertised, her Happy-Pants were far too thick to be concealed by any form of clothing smaller than a hoop skirt. Even from miles away, it would be very obvious that Amy was back in diapers.

This Message Is Brought To You By...Our Sponsors.

Tina turned and ran as the golden letters began to march across her vision. She felt a tickle in her bladder, and knew that she had to find a bathroom fast.