I Wasn't Really Arguing

Thinking back to my High School years I remembered how foolish I was as I failed to pay attention to the Math teacher. You see I sat next to this girl, and she happened to have this particular pair of legs.

Now all you guys out there know exactly the kind of legs that I’m talking about. Her legs just went from the floor all the way up to her ass and back down again on the other side. If you’ve never seen that particular set of legs, I know you’ve seen ones just like them.

Truly, not a one of you could possibly blame me for being a victim of that distraction. Many of my classmates were jealous of the seating arrangement as visions of those luscious legs wrapped around my neck routinely danced in my head.

The significance of those memories was now coming to mind as I realized that the total of my calendar years upon God's good earth is all too rapidly approaching a number that could be compared to the average daytime temperature of Tucson Arizona in July.

More importantly, that regrettable annual ritual of my birthday is ever near. Naturally, as you likely realize in the world of TTWD (This Thing We Do) the subject of birthday spankings manages to wiggle it’s way into occasional conversation the closer that benchmark nears.

Now, I won’t say it was an actual argument, but the discussion was getting a bit heated. More precisely, my concern was that the conversation was actually about the heating of my back side.

It's not that I don't believe in traditions, but as I reflected on this particular tradition I was sure that it was all some sort of elaborate corporate scheme to sell more hairbrush like items.

In any event, since it’s MY birthday and if it's going to happen I believe I should be able to choose the implement (I was thinking feather) and that the total number of smacks should equal at most, the number of years that I’ve accrued. Notably, here is were my fine lady’s opinion differed from my own.

You’ll remember several blog posts ago I mentioned that one of the additions to the “Her Paddle” household's pain drawer was the Spencer Style Sizzler paddle from those Pain-iacs at Cane-iac.

For whatever reason she was insisting that each year would equate to a good hard smack with her paddle of choice and as far as she was concerned it was going to be with the Sizzler.

The Cane-iac Sizzler 18" x 4" made of all too hard Walnut

So this goes back and forth for a little bit and finally her tone changes a bit and she said:

“Fine, it’s now GOING to be two per year and they're going to be good and hard with the Sizzler, otherwise if you want to argue some more, I would just as soon make it 10 per year”.

Then there was some sort of remark about me obviously needing a few good lesson sessions before the big event.

Here's where the significance of my rather poor math aptitude (as previously mentioned above) really began to come back and haunt me as I pondered the potential for some sort of geometric progression. More importantly that geometric progression could, or more accurately would descend upon my now twitching unfortunate posterior.

Naturally, sooner or later there just comes a time when a man has to stand his ground and put his foot down when things start to get out of control in situations like this. You know, sort of a John Wayne sort of thing. In mere milliseconds I managed to muster my most manly, deep and intimidating voice, looked her straight in the eye and said…




“Yes dear”.


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