I just don't think it's my imagination. Things are Dead around "the Land" as one friend christened this blog neighborhood I like to visit.
- Dead man walking Dead
- Dead as a door nail Dead
- In the Dead of the night Dead
- Catch your Death of cold Dead
- Belly up Dead
- Rest in Peace Dead
- Better off Dead
- Bored to death Dead
- Give me liberty or give me death Dead
- Dead of winter Dead
- Dead on arrival Dead
|Walking Dead Dead|
Anyway for god's sake, please do your very best to piss off your HOH somehow, some way, and let's generate some good post material.
So, here's my contribution. Serious spankings have not been happening very often around here either. As I have told Sam for years,
"I am practically perfect in every way."
(Apologies to any Mary Poppins fans out there.) Lots of little swats on the ass in passing. Seems like that happens in the kitchen more than any other room in the house. Sam says my work in the kitchen presents so many opportunities to keep his right arm in shape. It would be interesting to hear from some of you that have golfers for husbands. Do you notice a change in his swing when you are over his knee during golf season?
Curious people want to know.
(Also because we are so bored in blogland.)
There is almost always a "weekend adjustment" on a Saturday morning. It's purpose is to discuss the behaviors, well, my behaviors that can creep back into our day to day living. Things like bossiness, interrupting, and impatience. Oh, there is usually a cautionary 5 to 10 spanks about temper too. I am a whole lot better with controlling my temper, but Sam says that is probably because we continue to "discuss" it. When under the paddle, so to speak, I do not argue this point. Even when he holds out his hand, palm up, I put my hand in his and listen as he says, "Come along."
Sam's favorite implement is the one he made out in his wood shop the very month we started ttwd/dd about 5 years ago now. Mr. Paddle was born from a piece of poplar wood. It has an overall length of eleven and a half inches with a handle of 4 inches long. It is only 3/8 of an inch thick, so it can't do any permanent damage. It's like "safe sex" except it's a "safe paddle." Sam sanded it smooth and finished it with Danish oil.
There is no doubt at all that he picks Mr. Paddle out of the toy box/sweater drawer close to 80% of the time. It's fast and effective. Sam does not golf, but it is a similar fondness to the affection a golfer has for a favorite driver or a favorite putter. Why mess with something that works and does its job every time?
It stings like hell. I will agree with any point Sam is making as he talks his way through a spanking.
- the sun rises in the west. Yessir, it does.
- the best pizza has Canadian bacon and pineapple. Yessir!
- you should be driving the speed limit. You are so right.
- you have enough shoes. I surely do, sir.
- the dog does not bark just to annoy you. Yes, I know that.
The night before my flight, I had finished all the pre-trip tasks and was sitting pretty. Well, at least until Sam decided to add his finish to my To-Do list. "Come along, you," he said and reached out his hand waiting for me to submit and follow.
"I was thinking that we need to do our own TSA Pre-check," he said as he arranged me over his knee. Mr. Paddle was in his hand, and Sam started listing the things I should remember when I was away from home. And him. By the time he was done, I really felt like the security line at the airport was kindergarten play. Sure thing. I will take out my quart bag of liquids. I will remove my shoes. My laptop will be placed in the bin...... You know the drill.
He talked about staying safe and calling to let him know where I was during the travel days in airports. He talked about not lifting anything that might mess up my surgery. Did I have the 25 single dollar bills ready for tips? Did I have some snacks that weren't all sugar? He told me he would miss me very much. Here the spanking was done with his hand. There was also some exploratory stuff going on down there. Fine with me. I was a happy little traveler sitting in seat 34D thinking about that spanking.
The days away flew by and such a good time was had by all. Over way too quick, but we made promises to see each other again.
Back home Sam and I settled back into our regular schedule, and I got caught up on laundry and appointments and errands. We had our happy hour chats, and I had all of the experiences and chatter
of the week before to share with him.
Mr. Paddle was glad to see me too. I wasn't as glad to see him. There were a few spankings, all short and to the point.
Then just yesterday I really messed up. Well, the first part was not as bad as the second part. So first, I made a left turn on a familiar corner near our house. The way was clear before I ever moved out into the intersection. I was coming out of the turn when I glanced in the rear view mirror and, in that split second, thought there was a blue car speeding up close on my left. I jerked the steering wheel to the right and hit the curb with the right front wheel. I hit it HARD. It wasn't just flat. It was destroyed. I felt terrible.
When Sam came to help, he wasn't mad or anything. I apologized about 15 times, and he kept telling me it was okay. He got the spare tire on so that we could get to the Firestone dealer, although he was not much impressed by the quality of it. Our vehicle was going to need a new tire for sure. He climbed into the passenger seat and told me to take it slow and to turn into the strip mall up at the corner and cut across to get to the tire place. This is where I really blew it.
"Oh, Sam, you can't get to the Firestone dealer across that parking lot. We have to go around on the street," and I pulled into the left hand turn lane ignoring what he had said. My big mouth had done it again, but Sam didn't say a thing. After I pulled our small SUV up to the front of Firestone Tires, I saw the little access road that led right back to the strip mall parking lot. Just like Sam had said.
When we finally got home much later, he knew I was still shaken from what had happened. We had an abbreviated happy hour, and I mostly talked about how scared I had been in those few seconds where I thought I was about to be hit from the blue car and the impact of hitting the curb so hard. Sam assured me that he was just glad that there had not been an accident. The new tire was no big deal.
By the next morning I felt more like myself. The adrenaline level was back to normal. I was on the computer dashing off a quick note when Sam was suddenly standing in the doorway to the office with his hand extended, palm up.
"Come along," was all he said with a very grim look on his face, and he waited for me to give him my hand. I knew what was going to happen, but Dumb Me couldn't figure out why I was about to be spanked. After all he wasn't mad about the tire. That was an accident.
"But why, Honey? Why are you spanking me?"
Mr. Paddle was lying on the foot of the bed; the bedroom window was closed. After he pulled up my summer gown and arranged me over one knee, he told me that the only thing I did the day before that angered him was not obeying his directions. Like he was too stupid to know the way to the tire place.
"Boy, oh, boy," he said, "that really made me mad, Els. I didn't spank you last night because you were still upset about what had happened. Now we will talk about that."
And we did. As I said before, that paddle is something else. It wasn't a long spanking, but damn, it was long enough. Then Mr. Paddle was tossed back in the sweater drawer with no more sweaters in it, and Sam went to pour a cup of coffee. Like he says,
"Fast and effective."