Deena’s Diaper Days

She was poised, precise. Hair ran down to her waist in glamorous, vintage ringlets. A neutral expression stayed on her face at all times. Her long, delicate fingers cradled the white teacup just so as she raised it to her puckered, shapely lips.

The regulars at the Tea Kettle tried to ignore her as she sat drinking tea, but found their eyes slowly returning to her. She was one of those rare specimens of old-time feminine perfection that set an impossible standard for the rest of the world.

Hardly anyone at the cafe could believe she had just turned twenty, with the antiquated ladylike air she carried. But the barista had just reviewed her college ID, and there was no question about the young woman’s birth date after that. Still, she seemed more Goddess than human as she stared out the front window of the Tea Kettle. The city bustle interested her. She had no interest in being in it, but quite frequently watched from the sidelines.