The Morning gets an F

Sometime after Gina passed out from exhaustion, Marcie went to bed, after taking a few photos of Gina's prominently position, padded posterior. A quick upload to whoever ran GaaGaaGina, after all the backwards diaper was probably novel.

And a few comments confirmed the hilarity, but there was a very deliberate reason the diaper was designed with such a shape.

Gina woke up, not feeling refreshed, but the gut pains and cramps seemed to have been worked out. Undoubtedly she tossed and turned all night. She felt that her cheek was wet, all that wonderful drooling that inconsistently poured was no doubt caked on. A bordering on palsey jerk of her hand attempted some clean up. Really it just made her feel slimy.

Then she saw it.

Caked on her hand was a multicolored, brown dominant, smear of liquid shit. Looking around now, the whole playpen has bits of "dinner" everywhere! Her naked torso could put through a filter and color corrected to be some furry's dream dalmatian. Her nose blindness to her own mess underscored her helplessness.

Marcie had no such conditioning. Yelling upon waking and seeing the filth pit that was Gina's playpen. Gina's backward diaper had a serious blowout, the leg guards were plastered. If Marcie had the calmness of mind, this tableau would have had GaaGaaGina blow up. Instead her parents came to investigate the yells, accompanied by Gina's crying. There was no way to hide this from the report her parents had to sign. A bath from Marcie's mother (thankfully warm), and an irate father instructing Marcie on how to hose out a shit crib in the driveway, Gina was made ready for school.

Marcie couldn't pass Gina off on Susan quick enough, the scent of her own bedroom haunting her as she felt like a shit spector was omnipresent.