Discipline works

I’ll be honest. Even with the best of intentions, I’m going to fall short of her expectations occasionally. Not dusting in places where I think she won’t notice. Deciding the dry cleaning can wait another day. Putting the freshly laundered sheets on our bed without ironing them first. That kind of thing. Calculated corner cutting I suppose.

Bur inevitably she notices. I’m not going to argue the point. I know I’ve done wrong. Tuesday evening is when I will pay the price. That’s when I have my weekly date with her sturdy hairbrush. At first I thought her threat to spank me would be a playful thing. Maybe a symbolic way of reminding me to do better. But she had something very different in mind. The very first stroke always takes me to a place of pain and sheer terror. She barely seems to notice. Or if she notices, she shows no compassion.

She works through the list of misdemeanours from the past week, each stroke reflecting her disappointment and outrage at my failings. Making clear that there’s no room for the pathetic excuses that I’ve worked through in my mind but not dared to voice. By about the 10th stroke I’m sobbing and the tears are real. It’s the 10 strokes that then follow, and the pain that lasts the next few days that remind me that compliance with her instructions is not optional.

So I work harder, and cut less corners. But her expectations continue to lift, and the weekly discipline continues. I know it is for my own good.