You watch as Emily turns on the shower just before her own stream peters out. She flushes before standing up, then immediately jumps from the toilet to the bathtub. You'd like to command her to move the curtain to the side, but you'd not want a soaking bathroom floor, so you simply pull open the curtain from one side and observe her form from a limited angle.
Her bathing performance is less than stellar. She briefly washes her face and doesn't get behind the ears. She forgets her neck. She barely even makes an attempt to wash below her shins--the sign of a lazy-butt who desires not to raise their feet.
She makes similar efforts in the interest of being effortless and uninteresting after stepping out of the bath. She doesn't dry between her toes, she doesn't put anything else in her hair or on her face, and she only applies a single, gentle, insufficient swipe of deodorant to her pits before throwing the towel over the shower and skipping out to her room to pick out a new set of clothes.
A new towel wrapped around her sopping head of hair, she plops back down on the bed and picks her architecture book back up.
"Okay," you think to yourself, "she's not lazy, she's just devoted to her studies. I got it. I finally know what to do with this kid."
You head down to the girls' parents and give them the low-down in the form of a new command: from now on, on every weekday, Emily will be studying constantly from the moment she gets home from school till bedtime. If she doesn't have school, it's from dawn till dusk. The two of them--the mother and father--will facilitate this new practice by pampering her in her room as she plows away at her reading. They will spoon-feed her meals; they will sponge-bathe her daily; they will diaper her and keep her changed.
You go up to the bedroom with the two of them, quickly update Emily with another command (granting her robot-like studying endurance) and watch as her parents strip her bare, powder her nether-regions and wrap her up in an absorbent undergarment.
It works out pretty well.
You check up on Emily and her parents every day, and it quickly becomes apparent that the mother is pressed for time keeping up this kind of responsibility. You command her to hire babysitters.
The babysitters, only a year or two older that Emily in most cases, are resolved to care for her without question or inhibition after a quick command.
As the months go by, you see the financial strain all these sitters have put on the family purse, so you elect to take up some of the care yourself. Emily can be difficult to please; boasting an acutely picky appetite, and you were very hesitant and awkward the first time you had to wipe off her urine-stained bottom, but another sitter eventually showed up and gave you some pointers and some much-needed confidence.
Emily got into a quality college; all-expenses paid. Her manic work-ethic was paying off. You mind-controlled your way into living on-campus with her; taking care of her bodily functions along with a small handful of the babysitters who's zeal for babying Emily compelled them to long-term service.
Within a decade, Emily has become an acclaimed engineer with a pantheon of accomplishments at a startlingly young age. You and the sitters have evolved into a team of assistants; tending to the young genius like a queen.
Well, a queen of dirty diapers. As a result of her studying and social lives merging thoroughly together back in college, she ended up padded 24/7 and lost the last trace of her urinary continence by age 24. She has a faint bowel strength still; able to hold it in if she doesn't bend or stretch or cough or sneeze or spread her legs out at all. Basically, she's a multimillionaire innovator who needs someone to wipe her butt.