Hazel walks, a certain odor and squelchy-noise about her, toward the counter. In Hazel's arms is a pack of adult diapers. She thinks she ought to feel a pang of guilt, but taking those diapers to the desk, it feels right.
The girl hands in the package, with a mischievous look. The cashier surveys the item; she looks back up at Hazel.
'Adult diapers?' she takes a sniff at the air. 'Have you had an accident?'
Hazel holds back a grin.
'Don't worry,' says the woman, 'we have automated changing facilities for babies. Especially big ones, with big messes in their pants.'