Sarathonson - saturated diaper

I came home from work and my tenant called me in a deep voice. We have a very serious problem. I approached, and Natascha was lying on the table. “I need you to… change my diaper,” she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I blinked. Three times.“Diaper? You?“Yes! It’s full, saturated, collapsed… and I’m not going to work like this!” I sighed. I opened the back cover, and an indescribable aroma of old oil, stale coffee, and a hint of industrial melancholy escaped. “I took out the diaper.” Gently, she scolded me. “I’m sensitive. And don’t forget to use soft cloths, like last time, but better.” I performed the ritual, cleaning with precision while she gave instructions like a nervous orchestra conductor. As I put the new one on, she emitted an electric purr.“Oh, now.” She winked at me. “Thank you for taking care of me. Now, get me some coffee.” And I, for some reason I still don’t understand, went to make it.