*This is a true story from Saturday afternoon*
I gave hubby one last glare, and huffed towards the bedroom in search of Jammy pants – loose ones. Very loose ones.
It turns out I had eaten gluten for lunch, and I had eaten chocolate covered berries (lactose) the night before. My tummy was NOT in the best of moods. I was angry, passive aggressive, bloated and gassy- the worst of combinations after coming home from vacation.
Hubby followed me into our room, and locked the door.
“Um, my tummy still doesn’t feel the greatest, but at least I don’t feel like puking anymore,” I offered with a half smile.
“Ok,” he led the way into the bathroom, and turned on the overhead fan.
The fan that drowns out the noises of repetitive striking of flesh on flesh. It’s the spanking fan.
He took me by the shoulders, and looked deep into my eyes.
“Why have you been so grumpy today? Why the passive aggression? What is going on?”
‘I don’t know, I’m tired,’ definitely didn’t cut it this time.
I tried to explain how unhappy I was, and that I just couldn’t shake myself out of the negativity. But the words just didn’t want to come.
So he carefully peeled my shorts and panties to my knees, and bent me over the bathroom sink.
He asked if this was hurting my stomach. I told him no, that pressing over his knee would probably have dreadful consequences for both of us, but THIS… this was ok.
I flinched at the first strike on my bottom. I always flinch with the first one. It’s not that it hurts. I think the sound scares me more than anything.
SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!
He slowly increased the intensity and the pace.
He proceeded like this for another minute, heating my bottom thoroughly. I was finally able to talk.
“I wasted two and half hours this morning,” I whined. “I could have written a blog post, a review, my WIP, anything! But I couldn’t focus. And I made it into a joke on Facebook. But it wasn’t funny!”
I sniffled and shimmied my bottom back and forth. He was listening as he spanked.
He gave me one particularly hard swat, and told me to continue.
“Mmf! I accidentally ate gluten today, and now I’m plump,” I was holding back the tears and clenching my fists onto the sink. “I HATE being plump!”
He continued spanking, slowly, methodically as I explained how angry I was about:
not accomplishing anything,
the messy house,
my painfully fat / gassy belly,
how disappointed I was that we might not be able to have our “together” time. (Ok, it has been over two weeks! And he has already expressed an interest in some “new stuff”. Come on, already!)
He stopped his assault on my poor throbbing bottom, and pulled me up into his arms.
“Is there anything else?” he asked.
“I LOST MY CHOCOLATE!” I broke down in gut wrenching sobs.
“What do you mean? You mean you can’t find it, you misplaced it?” he pulled me off his drenched shirt, and met my eyes.
To his credit, he didn’t laugh or smile. This was a very big deal to me. I was hurting.
“I just found out that my chocolate…” I sniffled, “my chocolate…”
“What about your chocolate?” he asked.
“My chocolate has lactose in it!” I wailed and buried my head into his chest again.
“Ok, listen up!” he said bringing out the old bit of Army in him. (We met in the Army. And man, he does Command presence and authority like nobody I’ve ever seen)
I sniffled and met his eyes.
“Listen,” he continued, “ I know of a LOT of women who are gluten or lactose intolerant. There is no way in H*ll that they would give up chocolate. We will find you some chocolate that you can eat without hurting your tummy, ok?”
“Yes, Sir,” I started crying again.
“Do you want me to help you out of the rest of this mood?”
I nodded and bent back over the sink.
I cried and grunted and sniffled and snotted. But I did not move out of place. The next 5 minutes hurt. (I have the red, swollen bottom to prove it.) But this was something I really needed.
When every last tear had fallen, and every painful swat delivered, it was over.
He held me in his arms, stroking my back as I leaned into him, breathing, leaning, re centering.
Something had released in me.
I don’t know what exactly, but it was something big and negative.
I could finally breathe again.
My bottom was red, hot, swollen and tender.
But my heart was free, and my head was clear.
I thanked hubby, and apologized.
I’m not sure why all those little things bugged me so much today. But they did, and they escalated until they were suffocating the joy out of me and those closest to me.
After we kissed and made up, hubby sent me in to do some writing.
I have started with this blog post.
Next comes my WIP.
After that, I am going hunting for some chocolate. Without lactose.