My brain has been hibernating due to too much internet scrolling, but it has awakened with a bang, thanks to the discovery of an Adult Diaper Spa. Just linger on those three words. They are so incongruous and dissonant. And yet they are the portal to true insanity, not that I want to be judgemental or shaming in any way. I just had no idea!

I knew there were guys who liked wearing onesies, and I even remember looking at a website for adult size cribs. But this is a whole other thing.

This is not just a Diaper Spa, but also a Diaper Salon, Ageplay Spa, and Diaper B&B. It is run by Dr Murphy a neurodivergent M.D. who is also a “trauma-informed intimacy and relationship coach.” At the spa,

you can openly express yourself and partake of your favorite activities, meals, snacks, and nurturing. Activities range from playtime, story time, nap time, cuddle time, changing time, coloring, nursery rhymes, and sing-a-longs.

In the summer, you can play with your water wings and floaties poolside, picnic under the tree with your teddy bear, play marbles on the patio, or swing on the front porch swing and serve tea to your dollies on the porch. In the winter, we can make snow angels, build snowmen, drink hot cocoa from beneath clouds of whipped cream and sprinkles, and decorate gingerbread men or sugar cookies.

You get the idea. Who are these big babies? Are they the leaders of  government and industry? I have a feeling that these babies are mostly male, if I may be so binary. I think society already treats women like helpless babies, so it’s a less transgressive or appealing notion. I wonder if the spa offers spanking and scolding, or if that’s a different form of “play?”

The spa has everything a big baby needs, but you are welcome to bring your own blankie, stuffie, or onesie.  For $300 an hour, you get “a spa-like nursery experience for the little one inside of you, providing a warm, safe, and nurturing environment while you indulge in relaxation and self-care. Minimum session: 2 hours.” It’s $1,500 for a 24 hour Diaper sleep-over.

As I read this shit with an increasing sense of, ahem, wonder, I started to imagine being a cherished baby…I mean, it’s probably nice, right? I have no memories of my early childhood, except for my mom yelling and my sister torturing me. But by loving and caring for my own babies, I feel I’ve corrected that loss. While it’s awful to be an adult, it seems preferable to being infantilized, even by choice.

I guess it’s nice to indulge in your deepest fantasy, but aren’t some fantasies best left inside your head? Mine aren’t that interesting, and aren’t worth acting out in a pricey fake environment. Isn’t that what husbands are for?

Do they have fake farms or racetracks for people who like to do Pony Play? Uh-oh, I just googled it and they do! This place welcomes Ponies, Trainers, Handlers, Grooms, teams of Pony/Trainers and all those who love them.

I am open-minded enough to want everyone to be happy and sexually fulfilled, I just don’t want to find out about it.

Changing the subject, how many times have you seen a TV couple having urgent sex on the sink counter or standing up against a wall? It’s crazy! Now I groan each time I see this, and sometimes yell, “USE THE BED!” I watch so much TV now that I can tell what every character is about to do. I can often say the line before the actor does, which is simultaneously satisfying and disappointing.

Okay then. Thoughts or enraged complaints, anyone?

Last night I discovered that I might be an unwitting member of the online Burqa Fetish Community.

I had never been aware of this fetish, which seeks and celebrates “complete coverage.” I only knew that I like pictures of people wearing veils. In my Tumbler collection, there are hundreds of photos of veiled women (and a few men too.)

Veils are mysterious and exotic, and every culture that employs a veil in some way gets a big thumbs up from me.

Coming across weird photos of draped figures sitting around doing nothing has piqued my interest, but not enough to do any research. God, am I lazy; that’s probably why I’m always the last to know anything.

Now, voila, I get it!

A book called 2041 features a “complete coverage” enthusiast who goes by that number on Flickr, a man who has 60,000 photos that the publishers have edited to form a narrative that is humorous, sinister, and surreal.

It stand to reason that 2014 is British. The Brits really know how to do fetish, don’t they? Remember those guys who can’t be happy until they chop off one of their legs? British. And the tourist who was arrested for coming to the US to have sex with a stallion? British.

But of course, these enthusiasts are not all British. 2041 is part of a connected online community of men and women from across Western Europe and the Gulf States. They are Christians, Muslims and without religion.*

Personally, I don’t care about the drives and underlying psychology behind this fetish. You can do your own research if you want. I only care about the allure and the weirdness.

Here’s what one of the editors says about 2041:

There is definitely an aesthetic dimension of these images that is appealing – the composition and contrast between flatness and texture, the shapes are unlike others I have seen – and there is also a lot of time and effort that has gone into these.

Okay, good  He’s the expert.

I love them because what’s not to love, god damn it!

(c) 2041, Here press

(c) Mustafa-Sabbagh

(c) Brendan Zhang

Neither do I!   But a whole lot of people are working hard at this very moment to perfect their gait and spruce up their saddles in preparation for some exciting “ponyplay.”

Why am I the last one to find out about stuff like this?? My husband showed me an article in the LA Weekly about a 50 year old woman who dresses up like a pony and makes a good living at it. She goes to crazy pony events where ponies and masters hope to hook up, and others where the ponies compete for awards.

Listen, I understand role-playing. Naughty schoolgirl, fine. Cantering around with a bit in my mouth and a tail in my butt, I’m just not feeling it.

Here are some hooves you can buy….”Nice look, clip-clop sound when used on the floor.”

What the fuck is wrong with people, you know? Life is so difficult and complicated and so easy to screw up, why try to live it as a fake pony?

One of a Kind Designer Distressed Jeans [by Madewell].   $225

“Lovingly demolished, these dirty-wash skinny jeans feature paint splatter and shredded holes. 5-pocket styling and single-button closure. Wrinkling at front. Worn spots and heavy distressing throughout. 10″ leg opening.”

The Oxford Twisted Outseam Boyfriend Jean from Radcliffe. $210

“Radcliffe combines everyday wearability and an understated luxury in every garment with a deep understanding of how women want their clothes to fit and complement their shape.”

This is a tough call. The Madewell jeans are lovingly demolished. When was the last time you lovingly demolished something? The other nght, I stepped on a huge cockroach. I wasn’t feeling the love, I have to admit. Hm.   The splattered paint might give this pair the edge, in that it’s pretentious. You’re not only pretending that you keep your battered old jeans, but also that you’re an Artist.

However, the Radcliffe Boyfriend Jean is such an oxymoron! You’ll never have a boyfriend if you go out wearing these. And I like the Radcliffe mission statement: a deep understanding of how women like their clothes to fit?! Hahaha!

I do realise that I have a perverse fetish, deriving pleasure from ugly jeans. What’s that called again? Being a cunt? Or is there a more specific term for it?