Added: Sheneka Medeiros - Date: 02.07.2021 03:14 - Views: 22576 - Clicks: 6383
I can see some of you gasping, eyebrows through your hairlines, at the horror. Herb and Eva were fair parents — exceptionally fair when I consider the demands on their time. But sometimes we did things that earned us a spanking.
For instance, there was the day I came in from making mud pies. When I opened the back door, I liked the feeling of the smooth knob under my muddy hands so I proceeded to smear mud on each of the doorknobs inside. I got a spanking. That was fair. That was very fair. Trouble on this particular evening came in the form of me and Linda when we were at that exact in-between age. It was a muggy evening and not a breath of air moved through the open windows.
Linda and I, who shared a bed, were wide awake and we got talking and carrying on. Usually that was all it took. Our noise continued, and Mom called up a couple more times. One of us found a small rubber ball and we began tossing it back and forth. When she arrived in our room we could see through the dimness that she was holding a fly swatter. It was the kind with a tough plastic swatter and a flimsy plastic handle.
Linda and I rolled over, each trying to move more slowly than the other in order to avoid getting the first swat. And then, just like a contagious yawn, the other started laughing too. Of course that laughing tipped the scales for my usually gentle and long-suffering mother, and she started swatting. Those swats rained down on our behinds, and we continued to laugh. And the harder we laughed, the faster Mom swatted. And then it broke. Mom picked up both pieces of the swatter and went downstairs. Linda and I stopped laughing and went to sleep. We never spoke of that night again until years later when we got to reminiscing.
I doubt my mother is proud of that moment, but I sure do understand how we drove her to it. And these days we laugh even harder in the re-telling than we did that night. Phyllis writes words: words for stories, and words for books. Phyllis writes words for blogs too. View All Posts. Yes Martin and I were both spanked on occasions although I was a pretty good child for the most part and it was my younger sister who really tried the patience of my parents. Once Martin got too tall for his mom, if he tried her patience to the limit, she would chase him up the stairs and hit him over the head with a cookie sheet as they went!
The wooden spoon was the method of threat I used on my gang and in one instance a preliminary bang on the table to show that something would be administered to them if they continued with their nonsense also resulted in it being broken in half and much laughter coming from the guilty parties. Oh my goodness — sometimes I think we had the same childhood! This was a fabulous story and reminded me of the perils faced by my younger sister and me.
We shared a bedroom and on those nights when my mother or father had had more than they could take of our failure to settle down up the stairs they would tromp. I never felt the sting of the small spanking we could get because the sight of my little sister eyes wide as saucers, hand over mouth waiting for the door to open always started me off. Luckily, my bed was farthest from the door so I got to watch her scoot all over the bed and around the room in an attempt to outrun the inevitable.
That just made my giggling worse. By the time it was my turn I was so hysterical with laughter that more often than not the angry parent just gave up and went downstairs to pour themselves a hefty drink. My mom used a floppy rubber bottomed slipper when we were really bad! Not very often since I was such an angel!
You are commenting using your WordPress. You are commenting using your Google . You are commenting using your Twitter . You are commenting using your Facebook . Notify me of new comments via . Notify me of new posts via . Before I start, I should get one thing out in full view: I was spanked as . Yes, I was. Linda and Phyllis. How could you spank these little angels? Mom with my husband, Murray. We love you, Mom! Like this: Like Loading Author: Phyllis Diller Stewart Phyllis writes words: words for stories, and words for books.
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fly swatter bitches