I'm about to piss off every adult diaper company in America.
Because what I'm about to share could cost them a customer for life.
Me… And maybe you.
I still remember the first time I bought them.
A Tuesday afternoon, at the CVS in my neighborhood.
Studied the shelf like I was comparing motor oil, and when a woman turned her cart in, I drifted two shelves down and waited her out.
When the aisle finally cleared, I took the first pack my hand landed on.
At self-checkout, I stacked a case of water and Tylenol on top of it and prayed the machine wouldn't call for an attendant.
I was fifty-eight years old, and my heart was pounding like a teenager trying to buy beer.
But here's what I realized at that moment.
There wouldn't be a $20 billion diaper industry if there weren't millions of guys exactly like me.
All of us doing the same anxious shuffle through our local drugstores.
Different towns. Same act.
It's become so normalized and the whole country has agreed not to mention it.
I spent three years buying what that aisle sells.
It took me most of those three years to find what actually got me out of that aisle.
And I want to walk you through what the aisle actually cost me, because there are three bills nobody prints on the box.
Stay with me to the third one.
That's the one that made me angry enough to write this.
