Cupid Diaries – Day Two


I woke up, and for a moment I was filled with positivity. That feeling didn’t last long, however. Opening my eyes I noted that the room and all my bedroom furniture appeared bigger than normal. It didn’t take long for my mind to catch up and realise that this was an optical illusion. My room hadn’t grown at all. I had merely shrunk.

My alarm clock made an over-enthusiastic briiinnnngggging sound, putting a further dampener on my mood. It reminded me that today was Monday … and guess what? Not a Bank Holiday either. God, I hated Mondays.

Clambering out of the bed, I tottered over to the wardrobe and flung open the doors. This just gets better and better, I thought. My collection of Savile Row suits and expensive shirts had all gone. Even my ties had disappeared. I looked dejectedly at the row of hangers. On each hanger was a towel diaper, each a uniform bleached white colour. Pastel shades apparently weren’t even worthy of consideration. Cupid’s bow had robbed me of my entire wardrobe. In desperation I checked out the chest of drawers, only to find more cloth nappies, each identical to the last. Even my sock drawer had been raided. Cherubs clearly were not allowed to wear socks to keep their little tootsies warm. That was the sort of idiocy that had brought this country to its knees!

I paced the bedroom carpet, pondering my latest challenge. I could hardly wander around Paternoster Square dressed in a diaper. I’d get arrested! I needed something a little more substantial that a piece of cloth to cover my privates, (and we won’t even discuss the irreparable damage my reincarnation had caused to my Dillon Thomas!).

My employers had a very strict dress code. For instance, Dunstan, Burke, & Teeling Investors had yet to embrace the whole casual Friday thing, let alone Diaper Mondays. They even had an unofficial dress code for the Christmas office parties. Arriving to the offices dressed in a towel and wings was nearly as bad as arriving in an off the rail M. & S. acrylic two-piece.

True, I could always arrive incognito thanks to my new-found gift of invisibility, but how was I going to explain that to my boss? If I didn’t show up for work as normal, I’d be sacked. I was already on my final warning.

It was time to face facts. The life of a budding stockbroker, ready to take on the elite of Wall Street was a thing of the past. I had a new job now – well sort of. I’m not quite sure what the wage and benefits package would be, having not actually applied for the job, but I’m sure that Cupid’s bow wouldn’t allow me to starve to death, so it had to pay better than minimum wages.

Taking a deep breath and stretching myself to my full, rather diminutive height, I muttered to the bow on the night stand, “OK, you win! Let’s go make some love.”

Grasping the rope for the venetian blinds, I pulled down hard, ready to embrace the day.

Dark rain clouds filled the miserable skyline. It was bucketing down.

“Bugger!” I cursed. Could my day get any worse?

I’d barely gone a mile down the road when I realised that it could. The designer of cherub wings hadn’t considered the onslaught of winter in Lewisham. Added to that, I could hardly see through the mop of soggy golden curls.

Eventually, I gave up on flying. I was making no headway into the blustery wind. My naked feet had just landed in a soggy dog turd when the number 22 came along and drove straight through a deep puddle at the kerbside.

A wave of water washed over me.

My nappy was so wet; I was getting a builder’s bottom!

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