Dear 1950s Wife:
Every year a carnival comes to our suburb's downtown for a week. Normally I go on Saturday with my husband to cheer him on in the basketball throw, skee ball, "hammer the head of the pop-up mole" and other games of skill.
It's kind of dull, actually, because my husband is so competitive that he usually spends most of our carnival budget on his games. The only game he lets me play is the one where you pick up a floating toy duck to try to win a prize and sometimes we don't even have enough money left over to ride the Ferris wheel at the end of the night.
But this year a girlfriend and I thought it would be lots of fun to sneak out on a weekday to go to the carnival while our husbands were at work in the city. We had a blast going on the tilt-a-whirl, roller coaster, bumper cars and other rides my husband never lets me enjoy.
We broke our diets eating funnel cakes. And we played all the games, including "smack the pop-up mole." I won a lot more prizes than my husband because I don’t get angry from missing a mole's head just once and hammer the same mole hole over and over again like he does.
My friend and I also decided to get temporary "tramp stamp" tattoos that said "Hoochie Mama."
We went on the Ferris wheel for our last ride of the day. I guess I must have had a sugar overload from too much funnel cake because, halfway through the ride, I stood up, turned to the side and lowered my jeans and panties halfway down my butt so people below could get a good look at my tramp stamp just above my ass crack.
I got home well before my husband arrived from work and washed off my temporary tattoo. I had a really good sugar buzz because I did a full day of housework and got dinner together in no time.
I had such a good time and I really thought I got away with it.
But I wound up getting busted! Unbeknownst to me, my arch enemy was in the crowd below the Ferris wheel taking pictures of me on her cell phone.
You see, some years ago in college there a sorority pledge I was in charge of named Carla who was a bit wide in the behind.
I guess I went a little overboard beating her ass with my sorority paddle during Hell Week and calling her "Carla Chubby Cheeks" and "Lil' Miss Fatty Fanny." I thought it was all in good fun, but Carla turned out to be the sensitive type who can't take a joke. She tattled to the dean and Daddy had to make big donation to the college to keep me from getting expelled.
Carla dropped out of the sorority and transferred schools and I figured I'd never see her again. But my husband's corporation recently hired a new CEO. Based on my husband's recommendation, the CEO bought a big house in our suburb and joined our country club.
And guess who's Mrs. CEO? "Carla Chubby Cheeks" aka "Lil' Miss Fatty Fanny."
Carla's ass is really fat now, but I can't even be snippy to her at the country club. Instead I must complement her on her designer clothes, fabulous jewels and lovely haircut.
A few weeks ago, my husband and other middle-management employees were invited to dinner at the CEO's/Carla's house. My husband told me to be nice or else, so I had to "ooh and ah" at the household furnishings and complement Carla on her wonderful cooking even though I'm sure she had the meal catered.
The food was good. I know Carla liked it because she ate half the hors d'oeuvres and had three helpings of everything during dinner. I swear I even caught her out of the corner of my eye licking her plate clean.
When I'm gardening or walking the dog, I sometimes see Carla huffing-and-puffing along the sidewalks in our neighborhood as she does her fitness walks. She wears really expensive track suits in bright colors with "Trophy Wife" stitched on the back.
Of course I looked out for Carla at the carnival, but maybe her track suits were at the drycleaners because I must have missed her. I would never have done half the stuff I did at the carnival if I knew Carla was around to spy, especially not show off my tramp stamp above my ass crack while riding the Ferris wheel.
The day after the carnival my husband was in a really bad mood when he got home from work. I greeted him at the doorway as usual with a kiss on the cheek and a martini in hand and he drank it down in one gulp.
Then he told me to follow him to the living room for a "talk" and my heart skipped a beat.
My husband said the CEO called him into his office that morning. The CEO told my husband he might be promoted, but there are few openings and many competitors. To be promoted, my husband must be perfect at his job and also have the right sort of look that says "upper-management material."
The CEO said a middle manager's wife must also have the right appearance if the couple hopes to climb the corporate ladder. And while the CEO is not against tattoos per se -- in fact, he had "Property of CEO" tattooed on Carla's butt after they got married -- a wife does not project the proper corporate image by showing off her "tramp stamp" and ass crack in public.
Then my husband whipped out his cell phone and showed me a photo that clearly showed the back of me on the Ferris wheel and the temporary "Hoochie Mama" tattoo above my ass crack. I tried to tell him it wasn't me, but my husband told me to spare him my lies, he'd recognize my butt crack anywhere. Besides, Carla took the picture and told her husband everything.
My husband told me to go upstairs to the bedroom, take off all my clothes and bring down the "naughty girl paddle." I did as instructed and came back to the living room. I gave him the spanking implement, a smallish paddle a half-inch thick with holes drilled in it. My husband only uses it on me when I'm really bad. Believe you me, it stings like the dickens!
I stood before my husband with my arms at my side as he held my chin with his hand. He lectured me forever in a really stern voice about how foolish I'd been to put his career prospects at risk. And that my duty as a submissive spouse was to support him in his job in every way possible including looking and acting the part of the perfect corporate wife.
Then my husband told me he was going to put me over his knee and paddle my bare bottom till tears and snot flowed to ensure I'd never be so naughty again.
So he spanked me. And spanked me. And spanked me some more. I cried and screamed and yelled "Please Daddy!" Finally my husband let me up. I kneeled before him, kissed the paddle and his hand, and said the required words:
"Thank you for spanking me Daddy. I know you do it because you love me and care about how I behave. I love you."
Then I was sent to the corner to stand with my scarlet red bottom on display while my husband ate dinner. After an hour, my husband told me to go upstairs to bed. No supper for me that night.
I figured that would be the end of it. But the next morning as I was clearing away the breakfast dishes, my husband told me the CEO e-mailed him last night after I went to bed with an excellent suggestion. It seems Carla had told her husband she briefly knew me in college before deciding to transfer to an academically superior school after one semester. (What a lie! She left because she dropped out of our super-cool sorority.)
Carla remembered me as being "good-hearted" but "a bit of a rube" (WTF?!) who could do with schooling in the proper ways of corporate wifedom. She kindly offered to spend a week teaching me to look, act and dress to better ensure my husband scales the career ladder. Carla even offered to send one of her maids over to clean for a week so I can devote myself full-time to her tutelage.
My husband gave me a quick peck on the cheek and headed out the door.
"I know Carla's a real fat ass, but you got to put up with it," he said as he left. "My career's at stake."
Just as the door closed my cell phone beeped. A text message from Carla:
"Be here in 30 minutes. And bring your sorority paddle!"