2010: No More Mr. Nice A.

I got my first spanking of the decade this afternoon. Laying across my bed with the phone on speaker, A. had me consider some New Year's Resolutions with a ping pong paddle and clothesbrush handy.

None of my resolutions were particularly original: take an hour-long rest each day, get to bed on time, do a better job of taking breaks from the computer.

What was novel, however, was A. setting specific and severe punishments should I forsake my resolutions. Like 60 (!) strokes with the clothesbrush for each time I neglect my daily rest period. And one stroke for each minute I'm late to bed (it's not unheard for my tardiness to exceed two hours). He has yet to decide about the computer time, but I'm expecting it to be perfectly dreadful.

Of course, he had to remind me what those strokes would feel like should (when?) I merit them. After making me warm up with the ping pong paddle, I got multiple rounds of 12 strokes with the clothesbrush, not to mention periods of simply whacking until he told me to stop. I assure you, dear reader, there was much pouting on this side of the phone line. And both my arm and bottom remain a bit tender.

With this new get-tough-on-Natty policy, I foresee a year of grave suffering for my backside. A year of arduous sitting, sojourns to the corner, and maybe even lines or worse. (I'm too embarrassed to think about A. attempting anything of a colonic nature...) 

And a year for more stories. I've got a new Nanny Bea story scheduled for Monday. Fingers-crossed, my writing head will stick around for a more productive literary spell.