Chapter 2:

Chantelle had grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me out of the playroom in my soaked slacks, and no matter how much I tugged and fought, I couldn't break her grip.    I finally fell limp to the floor and kicked my feet, pounding on the carpet with my free hand. "THIS ISN'T FAIR!    LEMME GO, LEMME GO!"

"Darling, you really need to act your age - you're a big girl, aren't you? You're this many years old," she held up three fingers with a serious glare. “You can't be throwing a tantrum whenever you want anymore. So come on, up you get. Up."

She held up three fingers and I looked at her incredulously.    Three?    She thought I was three years old?!    I felt my anger bubble over and before I could stop it, I'd started kicking and rolling around until she let me go. "I'M NOT THREE!" I shouted at her. "I'm twenty-five!"

"Two and a half?" Chantelle shook her head with a little laugh at the realization, and corrected the poor young thing. "No no, honey, you're three. Don't you remember your birthday, you just had to have the Disney Princess cake, and you ate so much that you had an accident in bed that night?"

...what the fuck was she talking about?!    I looked up at her with frustration, with embarrassment at even the idea of... I looked down at the huge wet spot between my legs and bit my lip.    What was going on... what was happening to me...? "Y-you're crazy," I muttered, trying to push past her to find the bathroom.    I had to change.    Then I had to find Marjorie.    Maybe she knew why Chantelle was acting like this.

"We're going to need to get you changed before we go anywhere, darling. Is your Mommy around? Or did she have to drop you off?” it was like everything Chantelle said required not a single shred of evidence at all, so conveniently.

Chantelle stood in front of me and crossed her arms.    She spoke down to me with a weird tone that made it hard to think.    Like a hidden message in static, lacing the background of her speech.    I suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "I... um." Mommy?    What? "Listen, Chantelle... I know you're just playing around - haha, Florence pissed herself - but it's really not funny.    I really want to get changed, so please get out of my way."

"Come on," Chantelle told her. "Let's get you changed then." Or find someone to change her, because Chantelle did not change wet little girls.

I let out a sigh of relief.    Finally.    She'd dropped the stupid act.    She led me down the hall, away from the playroom. After turning the corner, I saw the sign.    Women's Room.    Thank God.    I hurried off toward it, but Chantelle grabbed my shoulder and steered me into a nearby room instead.    Huh...?

"We've got a little one here.    Her Mom had to pop out and she had an A C C I D E N T," She spelled out the letters, completely sure of the fact that her young charge couldn't understand what she was saying. “Can any of you lovely ladies help out here? I know most of you have kids of your own and this isn't really my area.."

"Oh, uh..." I had never met the wedding planner before, but she was easy enough to spot with a clip board in her hands and a name tag on her chest.    She was talking to the organ player and the priest, setting up for the ceremony.    But when she saw me, she acted like we were long lost friends. "Absolutely!    No need to be embarrassed - it happens all the time to girls your age." I was so taken aback.    Was everyone in on this stupid joke?!

"She's a little bit restless, and might need an N A P.” Chantelle explained. Agatha leaned forward, tucked her clipboard to her chest, and smiled warmly. "Don't you worry about a thing, Princess, we'll get you fixed up and good as new, and then get you into your flower girl dress - maybe no more drinks until after the ceremony though, okay? There’s a good girl."

"I... I'm not..." I looked up at the priest, at the organ player.    They would say something!    They would tell this crazy stranger that this joke had gone too far.    But the two barely looked at me, like this was the most normal thing in the world.    My chest started to ache with anxiety.    What was going on...? "I'm not a kid," I told the wedding planner as she led me away from the room. "I'm not a baby!    I'm twenty-five, and... and is this a joke?    Do you think this is funny?" I was starting to freak out.

“Oh baby, don't cry now. Auntie Aggie is going to make it all better, you'll see. I'm sure you don't want to be in those soaked pants any longer than this, do you? Don't cry, you're not in any trouble. I promise, it's really no bother at all."

"I'm not crying!" I yelled at her, as little tears dripped down my cheeks.    I blinked in surprise, rubbing my face with my hand.    I... was crying?    Okay, this wasn't normal anymore.    This was... unreal. "Aggie," I told the woman as seriously as I could, as we walked together into another room. "What's going on?    Why are you treating me like a toddler?    Why did Chantelle say I was three years old?" I wasn't angry anymore.    I was scared.    I was scared because... because what if this wasn't some stupid joke?    What if something was actually wrong?    What else explained why I was crying?    Why I threw a tantrum in the hallway?    Why I'd wet myself in the first place?

"Aren't you three, sweetheart? I remember I couldn't make it to your birthday, and that was pretty recently, wasn't it?" She seemed lost in thought for a moment. "Oh dearie me, are you four? Did I forget a year? I'm always doing that, I thought for sure you just turned three. No wonder you're upset with everybody saying you're three!"

I turned around and ran down the hall in my wet pants.    Embarrassment and teasing were the furthest things from my mind.    There was something more pressing.    I turned the corner into the women's restroom and went right to the mirror, slamming into the sink to break my speed.    I thought I'd see a little girl staring back at me, like some fucked up horror movie.    The Freaky Friday of turning me into a toddler.    But the girl in the mirror... she was me.    Twenty-five year old me.    My hair was done nice, pulled up into a bun.    My tan pants suit fit perfectly at every curve.    My C-cup breasts were obvious through my jacket.    And a huge dark spot was between my legs.    I... I didn't understand... if I didn't look like a baby, why was everyone treating me like one?

"Florence Marie Everstone, you cannot run away on your own like that!” Marjorie scolded her best friend as she closed the bathroom door behind her. "We've all been worried sick about you, Floren.” A shortened nickname had developed before Florence could properly pronounce her Cs.    But now, the name stuck.

"Marjorie!" I was out of breath.    I was exhausted.    I was so confused.    But my best friend was here.    I looked at her with relief, but the look she gave me... oh, no... "Marjorie... how old am I?    I'm twenty-five, right?    We're best friends, right?"

"You know that we've all been looking for you, don't you? The entire wedding party has been worried sick. Auntie Melz is getting married soon and we're all so worried about you running off like that. Can't I leave you alone for a second, little one? What is Mommy going to do about this..." And that language made one thing quite clear: the whereabouts of her Mommy was... well... here. It was Marjorie.

...no.    No!    ABSOLUTELY NOT!    I tried to run past Marjorie, but she caught me and held me at arm's length. "Look at the mess you made, Floren.." "It's not me!    I dunno what's going on, but it's not me!    I'm not a child!    I'm twenty-five!    I... I'm not a child!" But how could I convince her?    Half the things I said didn't seem to register with anyone.    Were they just ignoring me?    Or were they hearing something different to what I was saying?    I thought back to what Chantelle had said - I told her I was twenty-five and she thought I'd said two and a half...

"Floren, you are not two years old anymore. You're three    You're a big girl and you can't go running and hiding when you have an accident like this anymore, okay? Nobody minds changing you, but you worried everybody sick and the whole wedding had to stop. Do you want Auntie Melz to be happy? 'cause Christmas is soon and Santa Claus might not wanna hear how one of his favorite little girls ruined her Aunt's wedding now, would he?"

Santa Claus?    My heart sank.    I looked up at Marjorie with tears in my eyes and then dropped my gaze to my feet.    I... I didn't want to be bad.    I didn't want to cause trouble!    I just... I just needed to... to figure out what was going on.    Why was this happening? "I'm sorry," I muttered, because I was.    I hadn't meant to mess up Melanie's wedding...

"I'm sorry, who? Use your big girl words if you want to be a big girl, Floren. Say sorry to Mommy, and then I'll get you changed into your pretty dress, alright? And nobody will be cross with you anymore, not when they see just how beautiful my little girl is."

I glared up at Marjorie with a pout and crossed my arms over my chest.    She wasn't my Mommy!    I wasn't a little girl!    And I wasn't wearing a stupid dress, either! "I'm sorry, Marjorie." But she patted me on the head all the same and said "Good girl." I blinked.    Did she hear me say... my cheeks went crimson.

"Come on, you're going to love your dress, it's fluffy and frilly and pink. I’m sure it’ll be your favorite dress ever. And with all the petticoats, sweetie, nobody is ever going to be able to see your diapers, so don't even worry about that - you're a little behind on potty training, but that's nobody else’s business. When you're ready to grow up, you will. Mommy knows it." She smiled. No sense of humor or indication this was a prank - everything she'd just said was, to Marjorie, the truth.