tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60970602211026841562024-02-19T01:44:18.458-08:001950s WifeWelcome to 1950s Wife, a blog dedicated to preserving marital harmony a la the 1950s by advocating spanking, cornertime, and other corporal discipline for naughty wives!Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-13641443524009267082017-08-09T02:45:00.001-07:002017-08-09T16:09:26.198-07:00Naughty Wife's Moon Shines During Solar Eclipse. Husband Puts A Stripe
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Dear 1950s Wife,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">As you might imagine from its name, not much happens in our little town of Baum Fawke, Illinois. Situated in the heart of Illinois' southern third, a region known colloquially as "Little Egypt,"* our community is in fact so boring that the phrase "Stuck in Baum Fawke Egypt," as signifier for being trapped in dull parts of America originated with us!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">I'd always been a city gal at heart so imagine my dismay when my much-older husband Oliver told me a few years back he was retiring from his lucrative career as corporate lawyer for one of New York's biggest firms and moving us from our $20 million cooperative apartment on Park Avenue to the family farm he grew up on just outside Baum Fawke.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Though I reminded Oliver I'm allergic to smelling hay then pleaded I just adore our penthouse view when he refused to change his mind, I certainly whistled a different tune after Oliver turned me over the lap of his ten-thousand-dollar business suit, lifted the skirt of my hundred-thousand-dollar haute couture dress, pulled down my million-dollar panties made of finest Chinese silk and encrusted with diamonds, and spanked my bottom red!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">In the past couple of years, I've busied myself with redecorating our dilapidated farm house's interior while Oliver tends to home repair and getting the farm up and running. I've come to appreciate the rustic friendliness of Baum Fawke folk. But I must say that, compared to my former life attending gala champagne-and-caviar charity balls with dinners prepared by Manhattan's finest chefs, being invited to our neighbors for supper of greasy fried chicken with lard pie for desert just doesn't seem as glamorous.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">And I must add that I miss the sight of our gay manservant back in the Big Apple who owes his incredible physique to countless hours lifting weights in his off-hours in our penthouse apartment's fully equipped workout room complete with lap pool and running track. Our farm worker is certainly devoted, but his scarecrow-frame doesn't provide the same charge when I look at him, especially when he takes off his shirt during a hot day to reveal his three chest hairs and back full of pimples.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">So imagine how pleased I was to hear that our town of Baum Fawke would be the epicenter of an upcoming very rare total eclipse of the sun!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Carbondale, the only town of any real size in downstate Illinois' "Little Egypt" region, intended to hog the spotlight with its celebration even though we in neighboring Baum Fawke would experience one more second of total darkness. Having helped plan numerous big-time Big Apple affairs, the snotty attitude of the supposed-city of Carbondale got my competitive juices flowing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Under my direction, we'd throw a eclipse celebration that would show those cheeky Carbondalians that we Baum Fawkers can't be bullied. After our affair, instead of saying "Stuck in Baum Fawke" for being bored the new expression would be "Pumped as Baum Fawke" for being excited!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">But my plans were foiled by our town's two leading ladies, Mrs. Baum and Mrs. Fawke, who appointed themselves head of the town committee to plan the eclipse party and vetoed all my sensible suggestions citing scripture to supposedly prove their points.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">(If you listened to those two, the only acceptable evening wear for a lady is a Christian-and-fatty-friendly dress falling to mid-calf with ten-dollar flat shoes and inexpensive cosmetics bought from the Sears catalog.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">After that, I just assumed Oliver and I would go to Carbondale's afternoon eclipse activities where, as the city is site of a large state university and enrolls thousands of Chicago area students accustomed to eating things other than fried chicken or meatloaf and mash potatoes, I could also look forward to a decent restaurant meal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">But Oliver's vintage Mercedes wasn't running -- he got ripped off buying bad replacement parts from Baum Fawke's junk dealer -- and he vetoed catching a ride on the back of our farmhand's motorcycle. So we took our tractor for the two-mile ride to Mr. Fawke's farm where Baum Fawke's official solar eclipse party was held.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">The eclipse took place in early afternoon, so first Oliver and I sat down with two dozen other people for a picnic lunch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">I wasn't very hungry so I just took a few bites. But Mrs. Baum and Mrs. Fawke must have had less than their normal helpings of breakfast pork chops and pancakes, as they each ate ten pieces of fried chicken and split a lard pie between them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">The duo of dumplings were too busy feeding to talk, though I could hardly care less about those two's conversation. But after they'd spooned in their final bites of lard pie and finished arguing as to who got to lick the tray -- Mr. Fawke settled the matter by taking it away -- I couldn't help but overhear their whispered conversation about how my husband must be henpecked to let me go out dressed like a Jezebel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Such crust! In deference to rustic tastes, I'd worn one of my least showy outfits, a basic black dress I got for bargain-basement price of ten thousand dollars with a perfectly respectable hemline. And I wasn't even wearing my tiara.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Just because Mrs. Baum and Mrs. Fawke go about dressed in circus tents doesn't mean I and other conventionally-sized women of Baum Fawke must do the same. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">If they thought I dressed like a slut, they'd probably never seen a real one. I decided to show them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">About ten seconds after the eclipse began and the black of night came to afternoon, I put my plan in action. In my black dress, no one saw me as I walked several yards in front of the viewing party, particularly as everyone's neck was craned upward staring at afternoon stars.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Back when I thought Baum Fawke would throw a decent eclipse party, I'd bought online a special lipstick for the party in a lovely shade of phosphorus. With Mrs. Baum and Mrs. Fawke insisting on such a boring affair I hadn't even bothered to wear it</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Thankfully it was still in my purse. After walking sufficiently far from the viewing party, I slipped my panties down and began. It took the whole tube and if my bottom was as large as Mrs. Baum's and Mrs. Fawke's I'd probably only cover a third of a cheek. But I had just enough to make it work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Even from twenty yards away, I could hear viewing party spectators excitedly "oohing" and "ahhing" at the night sky and Mr. Baum, an optometrist, repeatedly warning people not to look directly at the eclipsed sun lest they go blind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Mrs. Baum and Mrs. Fawke talked excitedly in loud voices that the astronomical event was sign of impending Rapture and they would soon be transported to Heaven and they must make a point in the next few minutes to say goodbye to dear friends at the party not sufficiently pious who are going to Hell instead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">But after Mrs. Fawke consoled Mrs. Baum for her impending fate spending eternity without her husband as he was going to Hell for having an affair with his secretary and Mrs. Baum angrily retorted that Mr. Fawke would join him as he is a closeted homosexual who slept with his last three farmhands, the two women started shouting insults at each other. Then Mrs. Fawke shouted scripture in proof that her husband isn't really gay because his bad back prevents him from having sex lying down and that he always fucks her standing up and does the same with his farmhands, while Mrs. Baum shouted a stream of nonsense syllables that I believe certain Evangelical Christian denominations refer to as "speaking in tongues."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">But after Mr. Baum and Mr. Fawke angrily shouted at their wives to shut up, they stopped screaming. There were several seconds of awkward silence. I decided my turn had come to liven the party. I turned round and lifted my skirt, but first shouted:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">"Yoo Hoo. Mrs. Baum. Mrs. Fawke. Look at the bum my husband fucks!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">I guess I took things a bit too far.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Mrs. Baum and Mrs. Fawke were certainly shocked. But not by my bottom. Instead they mistook my glowing orbs from a distance as Satan's eyes and, thinking they had been sent to Hell in the Rapture, fainted dead away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Even from 20 yards, Oliver clearly recognized my ass. He commanded me to come quickly and dug into my purse to use my smart phone to call the Baum Fawke Volunteer Fire Department to send an ambulance to transport Mrs. Baum and Mrs. Fawke to the Carbondale hospital.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">(I'm the only person in Baum Fawke who owns a smart phone. Oliver never owned </span><span style="font-family: '.sfuitext';">one, as he relied on his secretary to get people on the phone at work and me now that he's retired. The other Baum Fawke residents consider the contraptions the Devil's handiwork. They use rotary phones and are connected through a "party line.")</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">But it turned out the two fellows manning the volunteer fire hall got drunk to celebrate the eclipse and didn't answer the phone. Everyone came to the eclipse party at Mr. Fawke's farm on tractors and, at five-miles-per-hour maximum speed, the two hours it would take to get to the Carbondale hospital put Mrs. Baum and Mrs. Fawke at risk of dying.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">So Mr. Fawke hobbled to his barn as fast as his spindly arthritic legs would take him. After he returned in an off-road pickup truck, eight hardy men stepped forward to lift Mrs. Baum and Mrs. Fawke into the bed of the vehicle and off they went.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Oliver was none too pleased with my prank. Even though I got word on my smart phone just moments after my husband and I completed the thirty-minute journey back home on our tractor that Mrs. Baum and Mrs. Fawke were fine and needed no more than mild sedatives to be administered once they reached the hospital, Oliver decided I still needed to be punished.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Normally when I'm naughty Oliver puts me over his knee and spanks me on the bare bottom with his hand. But this time, he decided I needed more intense discipline that takes place in our woodshed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Oliver marched me into the shed and ordered me to strip. I took off my dress, panties, stockings and heels and hung the clothes on a pegboard. Oliver retrieved the thick leather strap hanging on a nail on the wall.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">He sure went to town on my backside, turning my formerly phosphorus-colored bottom a deep shade of red. I screamed and cried as Oliver beat me doing an enthusiastic rendition of "The Whipping Dance." I haven't moved my feet that fast since The Knickerbocker Society back in New York threw a disco-themed charity ball several years ago.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Once he'd throughly whipped me, Oliver ordered me to hang the strap back on the wall then kneel before him, kiss his hand and thank him for punishing me. Then Oliver lifted me up and carried me over his shoulder out of the woodshed and up the farmhouse stairs to our bedroom. He tossed me on the bed, took off his business suit and climbed aboard for three hours of fantastic makeup sex!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">I thought that would be the end of it. But Oliver informed me a couple days later that, once the bruises on my backside heal, I will be taken to the Fawke farmhouse for a six-stripe caning with the Baums and Fawkes in presence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">I was surprised. So much good came out of the incident. Oliver gave me such a pounding in our three-hours of post-whipping lovemaking that we literally broke the bed. I never liked sleeping in it. The bed was old and uncomfortable and used by Oliver's parents and grandparents before them, which made me feel kind of weird having sex in it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">I've ordered a king-sized replacement made out of California redwood with state-of-the-art computerized mattress stuffed with quail feathers and in-bed quadraphonic stereo system with 40-inch-screen pop up HD TV reasonably priced at one million dollars. In meantime, Oliver and I are sleeping in camping bags in a tent set up in the living room, as the roof leaks in that location.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Mrs. Baum and Mrs. Fawke also benefitted. While they were dozing in the emergency room under the influence of mild sedatives, their husband asked the surgeon on call to put the women under the gas and give them gastric bypass operations. The procedures went well and they should be slim-and-trim like me in no time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">But apparently I nearly spoiled Oliver's political ambitions. Baum Fawke's 95-year-old mayor is a holdover from the FDR administration and his free-spending ways with the town's tax coffers doesn't square with Oliver's economic conservatism.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Oliver cut a deal with leaders of the Baum Fawke Christian Coalition, namely the Baums and the Fawkes, that they'll support him for mayor if he lets other members of the Baum Fawke Town Council, namely Mr. Baum and Mr. Fawke, pass a resolution encouraging the counties comprising Illinois "Little Egypt" region to secede from the United States. In return, Oliver will be able to fight government waste by firing the town's sole municipal employee who doesn't do anything except sit eight hours a day in a rocking chair in front of the town hall chewing tobacco and whittling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">I thought Oliver was doing chores on our farm the day after my woodshed strapping when he actually took our tractor to visit Mr. Baum and Mr. Fawke. They agreed to continue supporting Oliver for mayor as long as he did his biblically-mandated duty of chastising me with a whipping rod for not displaying proper family values in the mooning incident.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Six stripes of the cane is nothing for me. But Oliver also insists that I apologize to Mrs. Baum and Mrs. Fawke after being whipped and I don't look forward to that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Oliver was so hot for me prior to getting married that he didn't insist on a prenup, so I could do pretty well if we split up. What do you think. Should I file for divorce?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Good woman:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Sounds like you've a good thing going on in Baum Fawke so I'd hold off on divorce proceedings for now. But Oliver certainly owes you a weekend vacation trip to New York!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">*The town of Baum Fawke, Illinois is fiction, but the city of Carbondale is real, as is the phrase "Little Egypt" for the southern third of the state. And the city is the epicenter of a very rare total eclipse of the sun passing across the United States on August 21, 2017. I hope people within viewing distance enjoy the event. Or enjoyed if reading after that date.</span></div>
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Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-19078440379643864052017-05-03T09:15:00.000-07:002017-05-03T09:15:06.519-07:00May Day Dance of the Rising DongDear 1950s Wife,<br />
<br />
People in other parts of the country can expect warm weather this time of year but here in the frosty upper Midwest there's no guarantee. So I was especially pleased with blue skies and sunny temps we enjoyed for our town's May Day festival this weekend.<br />
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Among the many activities is crowning May Day Queen: a senior girl from our local high school who exhibits best mix of beauty, brains, and citizenship.<br />
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This year's queen more than met the criteria: head cheerleader; salutatorian of her class with an intended major of home economics at State University (she actually posted the highest GPA but our school board members are a traditional lot and maintain the long-standing rule that the high school valedictorian be male); and participation in several civic-minded organizations, including president of the school's Student Virgins Society and treasurer of Future Republican Women Homemakers club.<br />
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How grand the queen looked in her ankle-length gown with minimal décolletage designed by our town's popular dressmaker, Christian Couture, with tiara on top. The crowds along Main Street for the May Day parade cheered with joy as the queen passed on her float accompanied by a military escort of young men from the high school ROTC program and girls in her court: fellow cheerleaders as well as the student honored with school yearbook senior superlative of "Jolliest Fat Girl."<br />
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After the parade, the crowd gathered by the town square gazebo to hear speeches by local dignitaries followed by an excellent barbecue lunch prepared by the high school's Culinary and Future Pig Meat Producers of America clubs.<br />
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Then at night mutual dances: one for farmers and townies at the local firehall where cider flowed and polka music played and a country club gala for our community's doctors, lawyers, agribusiness executives and their wives with music provided by our town's nationally recognized barbershop quartet, "The Mellow Fellows."*<br />
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But, as exciting as Saturday's festival activities are, they still can't can't top the Sunday afternoon ceremony featuring myself and my fellow submissive wives and our husbands: the May Day Dance of the Rising Dong.<br />
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As soon as we returned from church, my husband and I changed into our workout clothes and drove to the dance site at a field just outside town where temporary bleachers were erected.<br />
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But we weren't planning to jazzercise. The workout clothes were merely for modesty's sake because once we reached the dance (an adults-only affair) we stripped down to our birthday suits.<br />
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Participation in the dance is limited to 21 sets of dominant husbands/submissive wives in the 21-to-39-year-old age bracket. As the 1950s lifestyle is quite popular in our town, selection for the dance is very competitive. A committee of town elders chooses the dancers based on such criteria as church attendance, participation in civic organizations and, of course, looks. The less attractive are certainly entitled to frolic naked in the privacy of their own homes but nobody wants to see a pigeon-chested man and his buttocks-sagging spouse in the buff in public.<br />
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The ceremony begins with us couples standing at attention before the bleachers as the crowd rises for a stirring version of The National Anthem sung a capella by The Mellow Fellows barbershop quartet. Then introductory comments by the mayor before he hands our husbands commemorative foot-long paddles with "2017 May Day Dance of the Rising Dong" written on the face of the boards.<br />
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Then, to accompaniment of a retired Marine Corp bugler provided by the local VFW Hall, the Mayor commands: "Wives assume the position."<br />
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Each husband puts a foot on the first step of the bleachers and places his wife across a bent knee.<br />
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"Husbands," the mayor shouts, "Ready. Aim. Fire!"<br />
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Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!<br />
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"Thank you beloved husbands," we wives cry. "May we have more?"<br />
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Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!<br />
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We wives repeat our refrain, though this time much sniffling goes with.<br />
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Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!<br />
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The 21-sets-of-buns-spanking-salute is done.<br />
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We wives take a moment to dry our tears, then gambol to the middle of the field where the May Pole lies. At this point the plastic pole lies deflated behind a pair of two-foot rubber balls colored red-white-and-blue.<br />
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But as we wives gyrate before the pole accompanied by sexy songs by The Mellow Fellows the pole slowly fills with air till at last it reaches it's ten-foot red-white-and-blue glory with a drawing of our nation's chief executive covering its head.<br />
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Twenty-one sets of streamers are attached to the shaft of the pole just underneath its presidential head. Once erect, each wife grabs a streamer and skips around the shaft in the traditional "May Day Dance of the Rising Dong."<br />
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After five minutes of dancing, the mayor again shouts "Wives assume the position."<br />
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We prostrate ourselves before the pole and our husbands mount us from behind to perform vigorous doggy-style fucking. Once husband-and-wife reach orgasm, the wife rises and throws herself against the balls surrounding the shaft. Eventually enough wives press against the May pole's balls forcing air pressure causing cream inside the pole donated by the local dairy to burst through the top giving us a symbolic semen shower.<br />
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Thus the May Day Dance of the Rising Dong is done.<br />
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Our town's May Day festival was such a success this year. Though contraception is not forbidden for participants in the dance (our town's Catholic and Protestant clergy agree-to-disagree on the subject, a fine example of our community's all-get-along attitude), many wives are hoping for a bun-in-the-oven to come from the dance.<br />
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I know I am. Counting the days till it's that-time-of-the-month for me and so hoping the red river runs dry.<br />
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I so want to be a featured attraction in our town's other big festival, The Great Baby Birthday on the first weekend of February. A little May would be fine but the child would be our first. So we're really hoping for a little Dick.<br />
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Good woman:<br />
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That sure is a freaky May Day festival. Our town's springtime parade of homes and gardens seems tame by comparison. But to each his own.<br />
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*The name "The Mellow Fellows" is used fictitiously.<br />
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<br />Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-24394339839538993452017-04-25T02:49:00.002-07:002017-04-25T02:54:11.466-07:00"The Handmaid's Tale": Must See TV for Husbands Who Discipline and Wives Who ObeyDear 1950s Wife:<br />
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My husband forbids me television during the day as he wisely realizes I'm apt to squander valuable time watching soap operas, game shows, "Dr. Phil" and other low-brow fare that's better spent laundering, cleaning and cooking.<br />
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And our TV set is reserved for Hubby's use at night and on weekends so he can keep up with his favorite teams and athletes in football, basketball, hockey, baseball, professional wrestling and golf.<br />
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Consequently I take little interest in television and am rarely up to speed on the latest TV shows. But my ears couldn't help but perk up when I overheard my gal pals at the gym gabbing about the latest release on Hulu network, "The Handmaid's Tale."<br />
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In shocked tones they discussed the show's depiction of a dystopian America where Type-A men rule over subservient women confined to the home. (Females who refuse to abide by the patriarchal rules are afforded career gal status cleaning toxic waste dumps until they die of exposure. And men who're wimps are executed.)<br />
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An environmental calamity has rendered nearly all women infertile. The few who aren't must serve as handmaids to dominant men undergoing ritualistic sex while their wives look on in the hopes of producing offspring.<br />
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The other infertile women not lucky enough to be married but fortunate not to labor at toxic waste dumps serve as household servants or as "aunts" at prisons used to indoctrinate fertile women for future roles as sex slaves and baby makers. And among the training tools are cattle prods!<br />
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Naturally, when I heard the show's description I knew it would be just the sort of wholesome TV fare that my husband would let me watch.<br />
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But just to be sure, after I dropped my workout clothes in the laundry machine, showered and changed into my customary evening wear of little black dress, stockings with garter belt and five-inch stilettos, I put an extra splash of vermouth in Hubby's martini and made sure to tongue his balls during his pre-dinner blowjob. And of course I served him his favorite meal of meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy spilling over and apple pie with ice cream for desert. (I dined on a yummy asparagus-and-yogurt casserole.)<br />
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After my husband emitted a healthy belch at the end of the meal to let me know how much he enjoys my cooking, I cleared the plates, washed the dishes then walked into the living room where Hubby was enjoying his customary after-dinner brandy and cigar.<br />
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I popped the question regarding "The Handmaid's Tale" and was delighted when my husband said yes to watching it. In fact, Hubby was so enthusiastic about the show that he only made me spend 30 minutes rather than the usual hour serving as a footstool as he sat back in his favorite chair with his feet propped up to read the evening paper.<br />
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When he was done, my husband folded up the paper and swatted me playfully on the behind before escorting me into his man cave so we could watch "The Handmaid's Tale" on Hulu network via streaming service on the computer.<br />
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I must admit I was a bit turned on before Hubby even turned on the computer at being allowed in his man cave for another reason aside from vacuuming the floor and dusting his knickknacks. I sat in his lap and curled up into his arms as the show began.<br />
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The show was interesting from the beginning, though the premise of a future where people's fear of terrorism and desire for law-and-order results in the overthrow of democratic government and the establishment of theocracy could never happen in real life. This is America for Pete's sake!<br />
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But as the show got into the training of the fertile handmaids as sex slaves my attention strayed from the plot to how wet I was getting. And when the warder whipped out the cattle prod, I couldn't help but turn myself over Hubby's knees and plead for him to spank my bottom as red as the handmaids' robes.<br />
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Which he did. And how!<br />
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Afterwards, I dropped to my knees, unzipped Hubby's fly and gave him his second blow job of the night. Then he lifted me up and put me over his shoulders and carried me up to the bedroom. Hubby ordered me to undress and slipped out of his clothes to recharge his batteries and mine by doing nude calisthenics for several minutes. Then he climbed aboard for three hours of bed-shaking sex!<br />
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So I didn't get to see the end of the first episode of "The Handmaid's Tale," much less episodes two and three that Hulu has available for viewing.<br />
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The rub of it all is, after a short break, the National Hockey League Stanley Cup playoffs resume tonight and Hubby will be preoccupied before the TV nightly maybe till the tournament is done in mid-June.<br />
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I so much want to keep up with my gym gal pals' gab about "The Handmaid's Tale" but I don't know much about what takes place. Did you happen to watch the entire three episodes that Hulu has for streaming so far and, if so, can you give me a synopsis?<br />
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Good woman:<br />
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I'm afraid I can't give you the update you seek. As is your husband's dictum, the television in our house was used only to view sports, specifically our beloved Chicago Barez, Bullz, Hacks and Sax. But thanks to the federal government high-handed ruling some years ago forbidding the use of analog TVs, even that recreation is no longer available. We watch our sports the old-fashioned way: on the radio!<br />
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But I googled "The Handmaid's Tale Hulu" and see the show got excellent reviews. I also recommend the novel by Margaret Atwood published in 1985 which I bought several years ago but never got around to reading, as it's supposed to be really good too. I plan to read it soon.<br />
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I hope you enjoy rest of "The Handmaids Tale" on Hulu once your husband allows you to watch the remaining episodes.<br />
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And take heed, dear readers, of the cautionary tone of "The Handmaid's Tale." Cherish our liberty! God may or may not have blessed America. But the framers of the Constitution certainly did.<br />
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<br />Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-90029200172286631172016-02-01T20:53:00.001-08:002016-04-11T21:17:01.003-07:00Bernie Sanders Spanked My BottomDear 1950s Wife,<div><br></div><div>When it comes to presidential primary campaigning, we New Hampshire residents get<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> lots of attention.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But I don't keep up with politics. As a proper submissive wife, my husband chooses my candidate on primary day and in the general election. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">It's never a matter of disagreement among us, as I'm far too busy with my daily regimen of </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">cooking, cleaning, laundering, exercising, being spanked by Hubby for</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> my faults and three hours of bed-shaking sex every night to keep up with public affairs.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">In fact, I'd be hard pressed to tell you the name of the president of the United States. But I do remember he's tall and handsome with good posture and well-barbered, just like the several presidents who've come before him.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">So when this stubby, stoop-shouldered old-man with buck teeth and a mange of frizzy white hair surrounding his otherwise bald head knocked on the door mid-morning the other day to advise that he's running for president and would like a moment of my time, I naturally assumed he was an Alzheimer's patient who'd wandered away from the nearby old folks home.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I invited the supposed-candidate to sit down in the living room while I brewed a fresh pot of coffee, as I figured I could call the home from the kitchen phone and ask that attendants come over and take him away. But I'd no more than taken a few steps when he announced in a tone a bit too brusque for my liking that if my coffee beans weren't certified organic and grown under fair-trade conditions I needn't bother.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">That just further convinced me that I was dealing with a crazy man, as the good housewife knows "organic" and "fair-trade-grown" are merely misleading labels meant to trick her into wasting Hubby's hard-earned money on overpriced groceries that spoil too soon.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I turned and smiled and tried to think of another excuse to get to the kitchen. But before I could speak, he launched into a speech:</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"It appears your cupboard is bare of appropriate beans. After I'm elected president, all coffee consumed in our great country will brewed with American-made-certified-organic beans grown by workers making the minimum living wage of at least thirty dollars per hour."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">He continued: "How will I accomplish this? With Bernie Sanders' five-point plan to cure the coffee crisis: 1) ban importation of coffee beans from 'sweat-shop countries' such as Columbia and Vietnam; 2) acquire through power of eminent domain under-utilized and vacant auto-manufacturing plants and all national-chain coffee shops; 3) convert the property into coffee-bean fields, coffee-manufacturing plants and government-run shops serving free coffee; 4) put laid-off auto workers back on the job growing and grinding the beans and serving coffee at acceptable salaries; 5) cover the cost by raising taxes on the wealthiest one percent of Americans."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Not only will this provide desperately needed free coffee for the middle class and return Michigan and other Rust Belt states to prosperity, but my accompanying proposal that coffee and fast-food beverages be served in American-made reusable ceramic cups manufactured by workers paid at least the $30-per-hour 'living wage' will solve the solid waste crisis. Moreover, my plan for free college tuition and living expenses, including 'gap year,' for all 18-to-25-year-olds will ensure that no young person suffers the indignity of working in a coffee shop to help pay for college."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div>I continued <font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">to listen to </font><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">candidate Sanders with a smile frozen on my face as he spoke of changes he'd make once president. They sounded to me like providing free stuff most people could pay for on their own with a reasonable amount of effort, all of it afforded by raising taxes on the wealthiest one percent. But what do I know? I'm just a housewife.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">At last candidate Sanders said he must leave.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Rather than coffee, I'd ask you for a cup of water," he said as he rose from the chair, "but the shocking failure of the federal government to enforce environmental regulations has rendered all tap water </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">unfit to drink. This will certainly change once I'm president."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"In the meantime, I suggest you and other Americans do as I do and purchase bottled-water mail order from 'Maple Springs Water Company'* This family-owned, union-friendly, Vermont-headquartered company provides 'Sanders-standard' drinking water at the reasonable price of $25 per quart bottle. The remainder of your 64-ounces-per-day fluid intake needs may be had by boiling your urine to cleanse it of impurities."**</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Candidate Sanders paused for a second, then added:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Which reminds me, I'm thirsty and need to go. May I make use of a pot and your stove?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Certainly not!" I replied, my face flushing red with anger.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"I'm sorry. I know you're old and addle-brained, but this charade has gone on long enough," I said. "Please sit down while I call the old folks home to send an attendant to get you."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"What are you talking about? I don't live in a old folks home!" he shouted.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"I have an apartment in D.C. for when Congress is in session and a house in Vermont for when it's not. Though they're not easy to pay for on the pittance I'm paid. How am I expected to survive on a measly $174,000 a year? It's hardly a living wage!"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Sit down!" I shouted as I pushed him back in the chair.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"How dare you," Sanders said as he stood back up.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"No woman talks to me like that! You're as loud and obnoxious as Bernardine Dohrn at an SDS meeting. And I'm telling you what I told her back then. Cross me again and I'll put you across my knee and spank your bottom."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"I'd like to see you try grandpa," I replied.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Apparently I pushed Bernie's button. Before I knew it he had me pinned with his left hand across the blazer of his wrinkled suit while vigorously patting the seat of my skirt with his right.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"This will teach you little missy," Sanders shouted. But after a dozen pats he suddenly stopped and let me free.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Oh my goodness. What have I done?" he cried. "I'm acting like a member of the patriarchy! </font><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">It's like the chicks, I mean girls, I mean women at the commune were always telling me: Bernie you've got to learn to contain your male ego."</span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">He pulled a card from his pocket that had nothing but an e-mail address on it.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Take this," Sanders said as he handed me the card. "It's my private e-mail. Please let me know what mid-tier country you want to be named ambassador to in exchange for keeping silent about this regrettable incident. We must keep this out of the press for the good of The Movement."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Then he left.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I returned to my housework and thought little more of the incident. It certainly didn't seem worth complaining about it to my husband. Compared to his spankings, the dozen hand pats from Bernie Sanders might as well have come from a gnat. I figured Mr. Sanders would find his way back to the old folks home eventually and they'd keep him under closer guard once they realized he escaped.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Imagine my surprise when I learned from Hubby at the breakfast table today that Bernie Sanders really is a candidate for president. Apparently he's running against some gal named Hillary Clinton for the Democratic nomination.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Hubby grimaced as he looked up from paper.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"> "I can't believe half the Democrats in Iowa voted for this Sanders clown," he said. "The corn crop must have fermented."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Well I know we're not voting for Bernie Sanders come primary day. And I know we're not voting for this guy named Donald Trump in the Republican primary either because Hubby says Trump's a clown too.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But no matter who my husband says we're voting for I'm kind of hoping Bernie Sanders becomes president. Not because I want to be ambassador to a mid-tier country because I could never leave Hubby behind and give up my fulfilling housewife life.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But I would like to make lots of money writing a tell-all book about the time USA President Bernie Sanders spanked my bottom. In the meantime, please don't tell anybody. It's our little secret.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Good woman:</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Sorry but I'm afraid I let the cat out of the bag.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But I doubt if you'd ever be able to make much money writing a tell-all book about President Bernie Sanders because the chance of self-described socialist and political zealot Bernie Sanders being elected Chief Executive of this Great Land of Ours are about as much as your story being true: zero.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">*A Google search shows no results for "Maple Springs Water Company." The name is used fictitiously.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">**Don't try this at home.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div>Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-51701172483039997872015-12-23T03:14:00.001-08:002015-12-23T19:05:22.401-08:00Wife Sings Naughty Song While Neighborhood Christmas Caroling. Will
Santa Bring Switches?Dear 1950s Wife,<div><br></div><div>My husband regularly spanks me for my silly stunts. I was extra naughty recently and Hubby spanked my bottom Yuletide red. And he says Santa is going to get in on the act.</div><div><br></div><div>For several years now, our condo association sponsors a Christmas caroling party for the neighborhood with prizes going to the best singers. It was fun the first few times. But I've gotten really bored singing the same old songs year after year.</div><div><br></div><div>Plus I've never been chosen as best singer, which is really unfair because I've got a great set of lungs. Hubby always tells me so as I yell and scream while he's spanking me after my harebrained schemes go awry!</div><div><br></div><div>The top prize for best female singer this year is a state-of-the-art set of electric egg beaters I've always yearned for. So, with the help of my best gal pal Edith who lives with her husband Frank in the condo unit above us, I decided to sing a satirical Christmas song that I was sure make my fellow carolers bust a gut and bring me those egg beaters.</div><div><br></div><div>After we finished circling our condo community singing "We Three Kings of Orient Are," "Twelve Days of Christmas," and other chestnuts, I told the group to hush up and gather round because Edith and I had a special Yuletide song to sing: a brilliant satire of "I'm Getting Nuthin' For Christmas." Edith <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">sang the song's traditional refrain while I belted out hilarious revised lyrics for the rest of the number.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But after we finished I was shocked to hear no clapping and cheering. In fact, the night air was completely silent until my husband began profusely apologizing and saying I was "going choo get a good talking choo." (Hubby's from Cuba and his accent becomes more pronounced when he's upset.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Frank took Edith by the arm to lead her away muttering that he hoped they wouldn't be fined by the condo board because it was all my fault and that I'm always talking his wife into going along with my silly stunts and harebrained schemes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Hubby marched me back to our building and up the stairs to our unit.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Boy oh boy did he give me a good talking to, shaking his finger at me all the while as he scolded me for my inappropriate juvenile humor. Then he put me over his knee, lifted my skirt, pulled down my panties and spanked me soundly with his hand.</span></div><div><br></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Hubby's hands are very calloused and his arms quite strong from his weekend job of many years playing bongos for a salsa band. So a handspanking from him is no laughing matter. In fact, I was crying "Wah!" the whole time.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">After he finished spanking me, Hubby marched me to the bathroom and washed out my mouth with soap. Then he told me to change into my babydoll nightie and get into bed.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">As he sat on the bed next to me taking off his clothes prior to our usual nightly session of three-hours of bed-shaking sex, Hubby kept saying I shouldn't be surprised if Santa adds to my punishment by leaving a bundle of switches and lump of coal in my Christmas stocking.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I wouldn't mind getting the former as it would save me the effort of walking down three flights of steps and 200 yards to the common area to cut a set of switches when Hubby decides to punish me that way. But I can't see the benefit from a lump of coal, though I suppose I could use it to put soot on my face should I decide to dress as a hobo next Halloween.</font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Plus I really want enough room in my stocking for the</span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirkFo3vAtnd-T4LIGrAjm8Gc_p_q88efA2bcVN1-fC5Kb_RPt3L_bENw-MC-vJPLWlbevb4hmNuw4G7uJWGvy87stCJddxKXUXfW8VRa4ZZDGm1JGyPdypcO4xdOVS0wXYce0MxfB8VA/s640/blogger-image-525622287.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirkFo3vAtnd-T4LIGrAjm8Gc_p_q88efA2bcVN1-fC5Kb_RPt3L_bENw-MC-vJPLWlbevb4hmNuw4G7uJWGvy87stCJddxKXUXfW8VRa4ZZDGm1JGyPdypcO4xdOVS0wXYce0MxfB8VA/s640/blogger-image-525622287.jpg"></a></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>set of extra-nice potholders that I asked Santa to bring in the letter I sent him.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">What do you think? Did singing my satirical Christmas song put me on Santa's naughty list? I'm quite nice most of the time.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The song sung, naturally, to the tune of "I'm Getting Nuthin' For Christmas":</span></div><div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"I'm getting nuthin' for Christmas</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Mommy and Daddy are mad</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I'm getting nuthn' for Christmas</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Cause I ain't been nuthin' but bad!</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Told the boys that I give head</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Somebody snitched on me</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Hid my drugs neath sister's bed</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Somebody snitched on me</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Smoked up all of grandpa's weed</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Sold hand jobs to men I meet</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Dropped ecstasy: that was sweet</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But somebody snitched on me!</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><div><font style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm getting nuthin' for Christmas</font></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Mommy and Daddy are mad</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm getting nuthn' for Christmas</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Cause I ain't been nuthin' but bad!</span></div></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Skipped school for days playing in the sack</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Somebody snitched on me</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">With Ben Wa balls up my crack</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Somebody snitched on me</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Told the truant officer to get fucked</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">That's when I ran out of luck</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">In juvy lockdown I am stuck</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Somebody snitched on me!</font></div><div><br></div></div><div><div><font style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm getting nuthin' for Christmas</font></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Mommy and Daddy are mad</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm getting nuthn' for Christmas</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Cause I ain't been nuthin' but bad!"</span></div></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Good woman:</span></div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Judging by the way Santa shouts "Ho, Ho, Ho," he has a good sense of humor. Plus he's known for being jolly. So I suspect he'll cut you some slack and that set of extra-nice potholders will be in his Christmas sack.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-9569757396538332262015-11-26T08:33:00.001-08:002015-11-26T23:52:34.274-08:00Spanking and the Single GalDear 1950s Wife,<br><div><br></div><div>I've been a faithful reader of your advice columns for several years. Next to the textbooks for my undergraduate studies in domestic sciences at State U, there's no better primer than your blog to prepare a gal for her post-graduate career in married life.</div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But it seems you never post advice for those of us unfortunate enough to still be single after college.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Back</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> in the good old days, nearly any co-ed plain or fair could count on catching a man at college and leaving school with her "Mrs" degree. But now even a good-looking gal must sometimes wait to the advanced age of 24 or 25 before Mr. Right is ready to pop the question.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I thought I had the matter settled, but my ex-beaux Billy broke our engagement off via text message late in senior year leaving me so bereft that I could barely hold my head up high at graduation.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">With no husband to cook and clean for, I had to move back in with my parents. It's OK, though Dad paddles my backside for breaking curfew or not doing my chores.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But now that it's been six months, Dad says I must start paying rent. I never thought I'd need a job after college otherwise I would have trained to be a teacher or a nurse.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Whatever am I to do?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Mademoiselle:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Your situation is indeed heartrendering!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But you're better off without boorish Billy. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">And take heart. It's only been six months post-college. You've got a good two more years at least to get hitched before you risk turning into an old maid.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">In the meantime you need to find suitable employment.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Ideally, the job will provide discipline and structure to better prepare you for married life, plus the benefit of limited prospects for advancement. Otherwise you might be tempted to climb the ladder and risk turning into one of those sad "career gals" in her 30s who, though she may have money, power and prestige, has only her pet cats to come home to.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I've researched the matter and these jobs stand out:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><b>Wealthy Family's Whipping Girl</b></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><b><br></b></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">A whipping girl is the latest must-have accessory for the household of means.</font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Her behind provides a suitable target for a wealthy wife </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">to vent frustration for her and spouse not receiving coveted dinner party invitations from the most prominent power couples, not being named to board of directors of the most prestigious charity balls, Junior not being admitted to Harvard, Yale or Princeton and other stresses of Top 1-percent life.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Husband typically spanks the whipping girl as a sexual release should wife be recovering from an exceptionally intense spanking the night before or an extra hard-pounding session of anal sex.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">And if a whipping girl happens to be placed with a traditional family that believes in </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">corporal punishment as a parenting technique, she goes over Mom and Dad's knee when the children are naughty.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><b>"Breastaurant" Waitress</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><b><br></b></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The "breastaurant" is the 21st-century's greatest dining innovation. Whether dressed as Catholic schoolgirls, cheerleaders or sluts, waitresses at these establishments wear skimpy outfits that highlight their ample bosoms, curvy bottoms and shapely legs.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Wearing such uniforms prepares a gal for her future career wearing sexy outfits husband insists she don prior to sex, when serving him fried beef jerkey and other comfort food while watching the Big Game on TV in his "man cave," scrubbing the bathroom floor on her hands and knees and other wifely duties.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Plus serving drunken men beer and chicken wings with a smile on her face while at the same time slapping their hands away when they try to pinch her bottom prepares a gal for those Friday nights when her future husband invites other men from the office over to watch boxing on TV or play poker.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><b>Secretary for Church or Funeral Parlor</b></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><b><br></b></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">While some may question why I don't promote the job of a secretary in general, a gal who aspires to marry a man of quality and thus must maintain a reputation of virginal innocence while single faces far too much temptation working in an office outside the limited arena of church or </font><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">funeral parlor.</span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Mondays through Thursdays generally don't pose a problem.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But how many a gal has seen her marriage prospects lessen after throwing caution to the wind when the boss breaks out the bourbon when the Friday 5:00 pm whistle blows? Once someone gets a reputation for being the sort of gal willing to Xerox her bare behind on the office copier it's hard to lose it!</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Churchmen and funeral parlor directors are known for their propriety.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But a gal should keep her distance from the embalmer, </font><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">as the job carries risk of getting contact highs from inhaling too much formaldehyde, thus rendering him overly frisky. And avoid employment in a Catholic church. Those priests know how to party!</span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Good luck to you in your search for Mr. Right. Be sure to send me a wedding invitation.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">And for more useful information on this subject, check out my Pinterest board "Sassy Single Gals and Secretaries Spanked," a tribute to the erotic pin-up art and spanking cartoons of the 1950s and 1960s at https://www.pinterest.com/1950sWife/sassy-single-gals-and-secretaries-spanked/ I'm sorry dear readers, but I can't make a hyperlink with the iPad blogger app so you'll have to copy-and-paste. Or check out the Links List at the upper right-hand side of this page.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYtFEQs889trtRt0Xakv0F-yBNwEABeWYyXbLESd_wT_hMJiNHSG6CPXB2I63_LhCDfqEZz3WSFX46ZhXWp5fBEpL5vd2O2bcoyFdIpycU0uUTGznSdW5WWl4Zdy_o-yiRRGyiTP-8Lw/s640/blogger-image-2102129692.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYtFEQs889trtRt0Xakv0F-yBNwEABeWYyXbLESd_wT_hMJiNHSG6CPXB2I63_LhCDfqEZz3WSFX46ZhXWp5fBEpL5vd2O2bcoyFdIpycU0uUTGznSdW5WWl4Zdy_o-yiRRGyiTP-8Lw/s640/blogger-image-2102129692.jpg"></a></div></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-15532090767185967912015-09-18T22:19:00.001-07:002015-09-19T18:30:51.221-07:00Brace Yourself for "Dental Discipline"<div><i>This is one of the more extreme stories I've written, so be warned. Also, such activities are dangerous, don't try them at home, yadda, yadda, yadda. Final caveat: This story is fantasy. I have great respect for the dental profession.</i></div><div><br></div>A Gentleman Writes:<div><br></div><div>As a first-rate cosmetic dentist, of course my wife has a dazzling set of white teeth aligned in a perfect bite.</div><div><br></div><div>While she presented an acceptably pretty smile when we first met, the result of good genes and decent dental care growing up, once she accepted my marriage proposal I naturally felt entitled to tinker with the the works. With an extraction here and there, several crowns, power bleaching and six months in braces during our time engaged, I happily walked out the church aisle to the clapping of the wedding attendees with a smiling bride at my side with teeth so sparkly white they lit up the cathedral.</div><div><br></div><div>During early months of marriage, I supervised my wife's brushing following breakfast, lunch, dinner and at bedtime, spanking her bottom soundly if she didn't do it just right. Eventually, I felt I could trust her to do a proper job on her own following meals, so I no longer come home for lunch during the work week.</div><div><br></div><div>We do, however, continue with our bedtime ritual of "Daddy's little girl" presenting her freshly brushed teeth for inspection as we sit down together on the bed.</div><div><br></div><div>I tinker a bit with my curettes making sure the last little bit of plaque is gone. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Then I kiss my little girl sweetly on the lips, turn her over my knee, lift the hem of her baby-doll nightie, lower her ruffled panties and spank her bottom cherry red. I then tuck her into bed with stern instructions to go straight to sleep and not touch her nether parts while I spend an hour in my study drinking brandy and smoking a cigar before I return to the bedroom to retire.</span></div><div><br></div><div>Of course, as a red-blooded man, more often than not I find the brandy reinvigorates my libido such that I poke my wife to wake her up, pull down her panties and climb aboard for a final ride of the night. This is typically my sixth orgasm of the evening, as our nightly routine includes a blow job for me during martini time before dinner with two-to-three hours of bed-shaking sex following supper and watching my favorite show on TV.</div><div><br></div><div>Once the night's last sex is done, I roll over for the six hours of sleep that is all a high-energy fellow such as I need to function. Though if our last act of lovemaking includes oral sex I do require my wife to hurry to the bathroom to brush her teeth and gargle with mouthwash, just like after our martini-time blowjob. Semen is chock-full of bacteria!</div><div><br></div><div>With all the time and care I devote to my wife's smile, you might be surprised that I require her to spend a substantial amount of time with her pretty teeth covered up. Well just because I take pride in my work as a dentist doesn't mean I neglect my wife's discipline.</div><div><br></div><div>As a dominant man, I require my wife to present a proper posture of sweet submission and follow my rules at all times. And one misdemeanor I simply can't abide is the offense of "talking too much."</div><div><br></div><div>For example, when I come home from a hard day at work looking into patients' mouths and being assaulted with their smelly breath, I simply can't stand being disturbed during martini time with girlish chit-chat from my wife about neighborhood gossip, which of her gal pals at the gym lost or gained weight and other inconsequential matters.</div><div><br></div><div>Instead, she must sit demurely on the floor by my easy chair, massaging my stocking feet (after eight hours standing at patients' side at the dental chair you can be sure my "dogs are barking"), the only sounds coming from her being "oohs" and "ahs" of appreciation as I regale her with tales of an especially tricky tooth extraction, crafty crown and other accomplishments. The only other time her mouth should be open is, once my martini is finished, when she gets up on her knees, leans in, unzips my fly, takes my fully-erect, foot-long Big Unit into her mouth and swallows my "love juice" down to the last drop.</div><div><br></div><div>Also, if I generously allow my wife, once she's finished making my snacks, to sit on the couch watching the football game with me, I certainly can't be expected to put up with silly questions such as "what inning is it?,"why do they call it 'football' if the players feet hardly ever touch the ball?" and the like.</div><div><br></div><div>Prior to getting married and putting my wife under my complete control (she did take a vow to "obey" after all), I asked several dominant husbands what punishments they administer when their wives are chatterboxes. While all agreed that a sound spanking is the first step, several men insisted that an additional punishment tailored to fit the crime is necessary.</div><div><br></div><div>One fellow offered that he inserts a ball-gag in his wife's mouth to be worn during an hour of cornertime following a spanking for the offense of excessive talking. Another said he marches his wife to the bathroom, orders her to strip naked, lathers up her mouth with a soapy rag and is entertained by her doing the "ouchy dance," sudsy drool rolling down her chin, as he beats her bottom with the bath brush.</div><div><br></div><div>While I certainly enjoyed yanking my crank during my bachelor days while looking at internet photos of pretty women wearing drool-enhancing ball gags, administering such punishment to my wife would subject her jaw to undue stress thus putting her at risk of developing "TMJ." Also, the chemicals in soap, no matter how mild, can damage gums.</div><div><br></div><div>I thought for a bit, then the answer came to me: braces!</div><div><br></div><div>A cosmetic dentist of my caliber can certainly fashion "punishment braces" to affix to my wife's teeth without causing injury or misalignment. And for my wife, who already took great pride in her beauty when we met and became even more vain once I improved her smile, the humiliation of showing off a mouth full of metal is punishment indeed.</div><div><br></div><div>A typical punishment scenario is as follows: Last Sunday afternoon while watching the football game with me, my wife foolishly blurted out in reference to the opposing team's tight end <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"he's got a nice ass." My wife's grin fell to a frown as I wagged my finger at her scolding her for breaking the "no silly comments" rule.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">During a TV timeout, I turned my wife over my knee, lifted her cheerleader outfit's skirt (I always make her dress that way for football games), lowered her bloomers and soundly spanked her bottom. Then I placed her in the naughty chair facing the corner of the den. When I reminded her that she had an appointment with me following the game in the garage where I keep a spare dental chair, she started shaking so badly she nearly fell out of the naughty chair.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Please darling, please," my wife wailed. "No braces! Please!"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">It was only after I warned her several times that 'braces time" would be increased from one week to two if she didn't pipe down that she managed to button her lip.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Following the game, I took my wife firmly by the arm and marched her out into the garage. Though the dental chair I keep there has restraints affixed to allow for treatment of the reluctant patient, my wife was thrashing around so much as she weeped and wailed "no braces, please, no braces" that I decided to administer laughing gas.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Once sedated, I was quick as a jiffy affixing my wife with a mouthful of metal. Though the task was done, I waited several minutes for my wife to sleep off the gas before releasing the restraints, as I wanted her to be completely alert for an important component of braces discipline, the lecture and paddling before the bedroom mirror.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The gas was nearly out of her system, so I freed my wife from the dental chair. Enough effect remained that she didn't struggle as I led her up the stairs to the bedroom and retrieved the "naughty girl paddle" from the chest-of-drawers. But by the time I had her looking into the mirror above the chest, she was fully awake.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">In times past, I had to administer several paddle swats before my wife would comply with my demand to "smile pretty." But she's experienced enough with braces discipline by now to know resistance is futile. Still, she can't help but weep copiously at the sight of her metallic smile as I stand by her side holding her by her hair as I sternly scold about the inevitable result of disobedience, reinforcing my comments with paddle swats.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">My wife bawls like a baby, but after several minutes she cries herself out. Then, as I don't wish to be cruel, I take her into the bathroom to wash the boo-hoo stains away with a damp washcloth, consoling her in a warm, gentle voice that the punishment is for her own good and I only do it because I love her and want her to be a good submissive wife.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Then, to reaffirm my wife's sense of attractiveness, I take her into the bedroom, remove her clothes, place her on the bed and climb aboard to give her a good pounding.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div>Though she's been through the process several times, a week in braces is still quite the ordeal for my wife. Early on, neighbor ladies thought the braces were for cosmetic purposes. But, as they know my wife is firmly under her husband's discipline, they now realize she's wearing braces because she's been naughty and can't help but smile at her when they spy her at the grocery store or jogging on the treadmill at the gym, thus causing my wife great embarrassment.</div><div><br></div><div>Even the next-door-neighbors' son Timmy gets in on the act, shouting "brace face" and "metal mouth" if he happens to see my wife gardening in the yard when he returns from school in the afternoon.</div><div><br></div><div>Normally, if a neighborhood child is impertinent with my wife, I have a chat with the father encouraging him to rectify the matter with his belt. But little Timmy's teasing does my wife good, so I leave the matter alone.</div><div><br></div><div>Besides Timmy may grow up to have a submissive wife of his own some day. He needs to learn how to treat women.</div><div><br></div><div>Kind Sir:</div><div><br></div><div>Wow. That was a twisted tale. You must be some kind of nut! <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Still as you, and I, are but figures of the author's imagination, I suppose there's no harm in it.</span></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-67576192320479561832015-07-28T00:11:00.001-07:002015-07-29T00:55:11.612-07:00The Execution of Barbie: Mean Mom's Punishment<div style="text-align: left;">
<em>1950s Wife is on summer vacation. In the meantime enjoy this nostalgic childhood tale by her alter ego, Claire Colinsgrove</em></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;"><em>This story is fiction, mostly. And dedicated to the memory of my father.</em></span></div>
"Thump. Thump. Thump."<div><br></div><div>"Boom! Boom! Boom!"</div><div><br></div><div>"Thump. Thump. Thump."</div><div><br></div><div>"Boom! Boom! Boom!"</div><div><br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Even
with noise that comes from my usual morning activity this summer of 1974, the year
I turn 12, smacking a tennis ball against the garage door pretending to be star
player Chris Evert, I recognize the other sound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Firecrackers!
From a yard down the street. I drop my tennis racket and ball and hurry out my driveway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">No
need to go inside first to ask Mom’s permission. In the 1970s, neighborhood
kids and our dogs play in packs free to run from yard to yard with minimal
adult supervision. Younger children of six and seven are told not to go beyond
next-door yards, but kids my age can acceptably roam in areas forming
concentric circles around our houses of approximately one square mile without
getting in trouble for “going too far.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
walk quickly to the back yard of the house where I heard the explosions coming
from. No need to announce my presence to the property owners and request
permission to recreate on their grounds. In the 1970s, a crowd of children in a
back yard is open invitation to any child of comparable age to come by and
play.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Just
as I come round the house into the back yard, I hear the explosion. An action
figurine flies into the air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Far
out,” a boy cries. “That was cool, man! Really cool!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
come closer. Several boys and a few girls, most my age but a few younger ones, gather
round a partially destroyed “GI Joe” figurine. An arm is missing and his Army
uniform frayed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Is
he still alive, corporal?” a boy shouts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Barely,”
another kid says. “He’s got a pulse but he won’t last long.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Give
him a morphine shot,” the boy-in-command says. “I’m radioing the MASH unit to
send a chopper.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“But
there’s enemy fire,” another kid screams. “We’ll never get a bird in here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Damn
it, private,” boy-in-command says. “We need that helicopter. I’m not losing
another of my men to the fucking Gooks!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Those
are bad words,” a girl cries, genuinely shocked. “You shouldn’t say those
words!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“My
older brother was in the ‘Nam,” says boy-in-command with an authoritative tone befitting
an officer. “That’s what they called ‘em, ‘Gooks’.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Well,
you shouldn’t say the ‘F word’,” the girl scolds. “It’s bad.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
know the girl from school, but don’t consider her a friend. Susan is a goody-goody
who never has her name put in the “talking box.” I, on the other hand, hold the
school record for being punished this way more than any other student.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">The
“talking box” is my elementary school’s primary means of student discipline.
Repeated misbehavior, particularly talking without permission, results in a
student’s name written in box on the chalkboard and subjects the offender to
five minutes after school. Additional misbehavior places a check mark by a
kid’s name meaning five more minutes of detention up to a maximum of twenty
minutes after school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Serving
maximum sentences of after-school punishment was such an everyday occurrence
that Mom for most of elementary school didn’t show until 20 minutes after school ended to drive me home. On the rare occasion when I only served five- or ten-minute
detentions, I stood around by the school entry door waiting for her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Susan’s
scolding the boys for cursing and using racist slurs makes no effect. A boy
carries a toy helicopter through the air pretending to transport injured GI Joe
to the MASH unit. After running several feet, the boy slams the helicopter down
on the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Motherfuck,”
boy-in-command says. “The fucking Gooks shot down our bird. Two proud American
soldiers dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Boy-in-command
carries the GI Joe figurine over to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Mrs.
Colinsgrove, I regret to inform you that your son perished in combat in
Vietnam,” he says, handing me the battered figurine. “He died a hero.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
take the bait. “Oh my God!,” I wail at the top of my lungs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“My
son. My son. My beautiful baby boy. Dead. Damn this senseless war. Damn
President Nixon. If only McGovern won the election my child would be alive
today.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Claire,
it’s illegal to talk like that about the president,” goody-goody Susan cries.
“I’m telling.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I
don’t care if you do tell because it’s not illegal,” I shout at her. “We have
freedom of speech in America because of the First Amendment.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Susan
looks at me with a puzzled expression on her face. She’s probably heard the
term “First Amendment” but I’m sure has no idea what it means. Afraid to look
foolish in her reply, she shuts up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
hand GI Joe back to boy-in-command.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Hey
Claire,” he says as he takes the doll back. “I thought you had a tennis lesson
today.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“No
that’s Wednesday,” I say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
feel a strange sensation, a tingling, shoot through me. I think this boy looks
cute, at least as cute as a 12-year-old boy can look to the eyes of a 12-year-old
girl who still agrees with her friends that boys are “icky.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">He
knows I take tennis lessons, I say to myself, feeling pleasure at the thought
that this boy knows something about me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Boy-in-command
walks a few feet over to a burned-out area in the grass. He puts a firecracker
under GI Joe’s behind and pulls a cigarette lighter out of his pocket. I feel
the tingling sensation again as I see the boy’s familiarity with a contraption
kids our age are forbidden to use.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">The
firecracker explodes and GI Joe flies high in the air. Boys cry “Far out!” and
“Cool, Man!” The chopper again attempts to transport dying GI Joe to the MASH
unit only to again crash to the ground to shouts of “Fucking Gooks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Boy-in-command
tries handing dead GI Joe to prissy Susan, but she’s either too shy or too
stupid to engage in make-believe grieving over a dead soldier’s passing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">GI
Joe is blown up a couple more times. Now just a torso is left. Boy-in-command
carries the doll’s body parts to the garden in the back yard, kicks up dirt,
tosses down the toy and smoothes the loose soil over it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">GI
Joe, proud American soldier who lost his life in the senseless tragedy of
Vietnam, is committed to the ground of make-believe Arlington Cemetery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“One
firecracker left,” says boy-in-command. “Let’s catch a stray cat and tie it to
its tail and light it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“You
better not!” Susan shouts. “I’ll tell.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“OK
I won’t,” boy-in-command says. He takes the cigarette lighter from his pocket
preparing the light the firecracker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Hey
wait,” I shout. “I’ve got an idea.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">----------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
enter my house still having second thoughts. I’ll get in a lot of trouble with
Mom if I get caught, maybe even whipped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">As
soon as the words pop out of my mouth, I regret it. But the tingle I feel at
boy-in-command’s gleeful look and encouraging words cause me to go
through with it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I
haven’t heard your tennis ball for awhile,” Mom says as I pass by her heading
to the stairway. “What are you up to?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I
was over at Sharon’s house,” I lie, knowing that my best friend is home now, is
quick to answer the phone when it rings, and will cover for me if Mom calls
asking about my whereabouts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I’m
going back,” I say. “She wants to look at my Barbies. She’s thinking of getting
her little sister one for her birthday.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Oh
that’s sweet,” Mom says as I walk upstairs. “You haven’t played with your
Barbies in a long time. You’re still my little girl.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
enter my room and walk to the toy chest where stuffed animals and dolls are
kept, marveling at my ability to improvise such a convincing lie to explain carrying
my Barbies out of the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
grab all four of them. I don’t care which one is used. I not interested in
playing with any of my Barbies anymore. I’m practically a teenager. I don’t
want to play with dolls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
walk back down the stairs with my quartet of Barbies. “Bye Mom,” I shout as I
walk out the door. “Be back in a little while.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
walk quickly down the street and round the house into the back yard. The
younger kids and most of the girls have left leaving just the boys my age and
the prissy Susan girl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">The
boys belch loudly. “That’s so gross,” Susan scolds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Boy-in-command
spies me. “You got them,” he says delightedly. “Far out!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Which
one do you want to use,” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“It
doesn’t matter,” says boy-in-command. “Any of them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
toss him a Barbie dressed in a 1970s-style pants suit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Boy-in-command
picks up the doll.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“She’s
a VC operative who hangs out by the base posing as a hooker,” he says. “She
intentionally gives soldiers ‘the clap’.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“That’s
so gross,” Susan shouts. “You better not talk about that stuff. I’ll tell.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
don’t know what “the clap” is except that it’s must have something to do with
sex. But I don’t like the idea of Caucasian-looking Barbie being Vietnamese.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“She
can’t be VC. She’s not Asian,” I say. “She’s ‘Hanoi Jane’.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Who?”
asks one of the boys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“You
know, Jane Fonda, the movie actress,” I say. “She was one of those anti-war
protestors in the 1960s. She visited North Vietnam and posed in photos with Ho
Chi Min, the head of the VC. That’s why they call her ‘Hanoi Jane’.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Yeah,
‘Hanoi Jane.’ My older brother talks about her,” says boy-in-command. “She sold
out the American troops. She’s a traitor.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Boy-in-command
holds the Barbie doll up in the air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“We’ve
gone on a mission deep into VC territory and discovered ‘Hanoi Jane’ at a base
camp,” boy-in-command says. “She’s letting the VC officers fuck her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“You
better not say that word again,” shouts prissy Susan. “I’m telling.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I’m
a master interrogator, ‘Hanoi Jane’,” says boy-in-command. “Tell us what you
know!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I
will never ever talk, imperialist U.S. Army pig,” I shout. “Long live the third
world. Long live Chairman Mao and Che Guevara!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Boy-and-command
walks over to me grinning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“We
have ways of making you talk, ‘Hanoi Jane.’ Confess or it will be all the worse
for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I
won’t,” I cry. “The boot of American imperialism will never crush the fighting
spirit of the Viet Cong, true representatives of the Vietnamese people.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Confess
or you’ll be tortured,” says boy-in-command.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I
won’t,” I shout.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Very
well. You leave me no choice.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Boy-in-command
lays the Barbie doll on the ground and sets the last firecracker under her
plastic behind. “Last chance,” he says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Nope.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">He
takes the cigarette lighter and lights the firecracker. A second later, then
“Boom!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Barbie
flies high in the air to cheers of me and the boys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Corporal,”
shouts boy-in-command. “Is she dead?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Another
kid picks up the tattered Barbie. “Yes Sir,” he says. “No pulse.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Chop
off her head and stick it on a post as a sign to locals of what happens when
they defy the U.S. Army,” boy-in-command says. “But shave off the ears for you
and the soldiers to keep as souvenirs.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes Sir,” says the other kid. He tugs at
Barbie’s head popping it off. He tosses the torso to me and the head to prissy
Susan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“That’s
so gross,” she says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“No
more firecrackers,” says boy-in-command. He fishes in his pocket pulling out a
loose cigarette.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I
stole one from my brother’s pack,” he says. “Who wants a puff?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I’m
leaving,” declares Susan. “And you better leave too Claire or I’m telling on
you for smoking.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
look over at boy-in-command. “I better head home. It’s almost lunch time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
toss Barbie’s torso to him. “Can you throw this away for me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Sure,”
says boy-in-command. I turn to leave. “Hey Claire,” he calls after me. “Wait
up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">He
catches up with me as we turn round the house into the front yard. We’re out of
sight and sound of the other kids.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Boy-in-command
looks bashful all of a sudden. “Um, Claire, um …”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">He’s
lost some of his “command presence.” But, thankfully, not all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Um
… would you like to play tennis with me sometime?,” he finally stammers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
feel my heart leap. “Sure,” I say excitedly. “Call me. We’re in the phone
book.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
turn to leave. “Hey Claire,” says boy-in-command.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Yes?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">He
reaches one arm out to hold my shoulder then his other. My hands hold my
remaining three Barbies, so I can’t help but let him pull me closer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Boy-in-command
kisses me lightly on the lips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">My
first kiss! And it’s not icky at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Bye,”
says grinning boy-in-command.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Byeee!!!,”
I sing out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
hurry home resisting the urge to skip instead of walk because I know he may be
watching me and I don’t want to look like a kid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">What
a great day!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">----------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
head out the back door the next morning, Tuesday, carrying my tennis racket and
ball ready to do battle with the garage door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">As
usual, I prepare with a hearty breakfast except this morning I had some of the
yucky-tasting bran flakes Mom eats instead of sugared cereal. Got to watch my
weight now that I have a boyfriend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Boy-in-command
telephoned yesterday night just as we finished supper. Today he has a baseball
game, Wednesday is my tennis lesson, so our tennis match is set for Thursday.
Mom shook her head “no” when I asked, but Dad overruled her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Tennis
only,” Mom told me. “No going to his house after.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Later
that night, as I watched TV in the den, I overheard my parents talking in the
kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“She’s
only 12,” Mom said. “It’s harmless,” Dad replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She needs to begin learning how to interact
with boys at some point. She knows not to do anything wrong,” Dad continued.
“You’ve got to accept the fact that her life growing up is going to be
different from yours. We can’t afford to send her to a girl’s boarding school
for high school. She’s going to be in a co-educational environment.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I’m
about to walk out the door when Mom says “Claire, I need to talk to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
walk back into the kitchen. Mom’s sitting at the table finishing her coffee.
I’m not too worried. She hasn’t been my room since I returned yesterday for
lunch. If she’d asked then, I was prepared to explain the missing Barbie by
saying I left it with Sharon’s little sister to play with. But Mom didn’t
notice that I only returned with three dolls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">My
parents rarely interact with my best friend Sharon’s parents, who, unlike Mom
and Dad, didn’t go to prestigious East Coast colleges and don’t belong to the
country club. So, if Mom ever discovers the missing Barbie, I can likely get
away with lying that it’s at Sharon’s house and Mom probably won’t ever follow
up on it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">But,
as the poet says, “The best laid plans or mice and man (and 12-year-old girls
lying to their mothers) go oft astray and leave us not but grief and pain…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Just
how much pain I’m about to find out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
stand a few feet from Mom. “What were you up to yesterday morning?” she asks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">This
isn’t good. I try to sound confident, but I feel the bravado drain from my
voice as I say “What do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Between
when you quit bouncing the tennis ball against the garage door and lunch. Where
did you go with your Barbies?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I
went to Sharon’s house,” I say. “Her little sister wanted to look at them. I
let her keep one to play with for awhile.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I
don’t like you lending those dolls to other kids,” Mom says. “Other toys maybe,
but not your Barbies. Santa brought them to you. Hurry over to Sharon’s house
and bring it back.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
feel a bit of hope. With a convincing performance I can get out of this. Maybe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“But
Mom,” I whine, “I told Sharon’s little sister she could play with it. A bunch
of her friends are coming over later this week to put on a pageant with their
dolls. What’s the big deal? I don’t really play that much with Barbies any more. They’re for younger kids.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">But
Mom is unmoved. “Go and get it,” she says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I
can’t,” I say, starting to plead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Why
not?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I
just can’t,” I mumble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Is
this why,” says Mom, pulling my late Barbie’s head out of her dress pocket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
flush, more with anger than fear, and feel my heart pound. That bitch Susan
tattled on me! Oh she is so dead the next time I see her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Susan
Miller’s mother stopped by early this morning before you got up,” Mom says.
“Hanging out with boys who smoke and shoot off fireworks. How could you? Santa
brought you that Barbie for Christmas!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I
dunno,” I mumble. “I heard the firecrackers and went over. These kids were
blowing up a GI Joe doll and it looked funny. They had one firecracker left and
they thought it would be cool to blow up a Barbie.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
continue: “I know I shouldn’t have been around firecrackers. I’m sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What
else are you sorry about?” Mom demands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What
do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Are
you sorry that you lied to me just now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Yes
Ma’am.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mom
continues: “What is the punishment for lying.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
feel the tears start to flow. I can’t believe it! I’m 12 years old. She can’t
be planning on washing my mouth out with soap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Mom,
I’m too old.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What’s
the punishment?” she demands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I
get a soapy mouth,” I mumble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Very
well,” says Mom. “Let’s get you upstairs.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mom
assists me in walking upstairs to my bathroom by grabbing an earlobe and
tugging me along. Great. Nothing like the pain and humiliation of being “taken
by ear” to the bathroom to get your mouth washed out with soap at age 12.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
sit down on the toilet lid. “Please Mom,” I cry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">No
response. Mom is busy lathering up a soapy rag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">She
turns from the sink to me. “Open,” she says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
comply, trying to maintain my dignity in my mind by fantasizing that I’m at the
dentist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mom
would certainly make a great dental assistant. She’s very thorough: My lower
teeth and gums, the upper set, across the tongue and under it, the top of my
mouth, all soundly soaped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Finally,
she’s done and I stand by the sink. My whole being rebels at the horrible taste
in my mouth, but I know from past routine that I better not spit yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“One
minute,” Mom says looking down at her watch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
count the seconds in my head of the longest minute in my life. At last Mom
says, “Spit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
expectorate a load of soapy spit. Mom gives me a small paper cup from the
dispenser. “Wash your mouth out,” she says. I comply, refilling the cup to wash
my mouth out several times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“OK,”
Mom says. “Brush your teeth.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
brush away, doing a much more thorough job than usual. At last the horrible
taste is gone from my mouth. I spit one last time and wash my toothbrush off
with water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">What
next, I wonder. Hopefully, she’s not going to tell me my tennis date is
cancelled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Now
go fetch the “ouchy stick” and meet me in the living room,” Mom says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“But
Mom,” I cry. “I’ve been punished enough. I’m sorry!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What
are you sorry for?” Mom demands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I’m
sorry that I was hanging out with kids playing firecrackers.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What
else?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I’m
sorry that I lied to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What
else?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Mom,
that’s all I did. I said I’m sorry. Why are you being like this?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Apparently,
you’re not sorry enough,” Mom says. “Go fetch the ouchy stick.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
walk out the bathroom down the stairs to the broom closet. I feel a mixture of
rage and fear, my stomach churning. I’ve already gotten one humiliating
punishment. This is too much. It’s abuse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
open the broom closet and retrieve the “ouchy stick” from its customary place
hanging on the wall. Its purpose is obvious, so obvious that I’ve taken in the
past year to make sure the broom closet is closed when friends visit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Nearly
all my friends got spanked by their parents as young children, no big deal
about that. But those who still get it at age 12 are likely to be teased should
other kids know. I’ve been working up my nerve the past several months to make
a formal request to my parents to declare me “too old” for spanking and throw away
the ouchy stick. But, not having been whipped in several months, I haven’t
pressed the issue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">The
‘ouchy stick” got its name from Mom referring to the hand spanks I got as a
toddler and young child on my backside as “ouchies.” By the time I turned ten,
hand spanks were considered insufficient. So Mom acquired an “ouchy stick,”
which consists of a 12-inch ruler with handle affixed. The handle has a strap
allowing it to be hung on a wall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
have no idea where Mom got the ouchy stick. She probably went around the
neighborhood asking parents of grown children if they had an implement no
longer needed she could buy from them so she’d have something handy to beat her
daughter with. In the 1970s, parents were less hung-up about this sort of thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Applied
to a 12-year-old bottom covered by panties and jeans, the ouchy stick doesn’t
hurt that bad. Applied to bare legs, it stings like the dickens. Better to get
the ouchy stick in winter than summer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
walk into the living room and hand Mom the ouchy stick. By now, the fear has left.
All that remains is anger. Because I’ve figured out what this whipping is
about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mom
holds the handle of the stick with her right hand and runs the fingers of the
left along the face of the implement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“If
you tell me all three things you should be sorry about, we won’t have to go
through with this,” Mom says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I’m
sorry that I played with firecrackers,” I say. “I’m sorry that I lied to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What
else?” Mom demands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“That’s
all I did,” I wail.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mom
walks behind me and cracks the back of each bare thigh twice with the stick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What
else,” she screams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“That’s
all I did,” I holler back, tears rolling down my face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Crack!
Crack!” on the right thigh. “Crack! Crack!” on the left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What
else?” Mom again shouts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nothing else,” I say in a voice choked with
tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Crack!
Crack!” on the right thigh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What
else?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">No
answer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Crack!
Crack!” on the left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mom
ceases interrogating and but continues spanking. The thigh cracks continue, by
now I’ve had at least a dozen spanks on each thigh. I’ve never been beaten this
bad before. The few whippings I’ve had before that came close I would have long
since been jumping up and down doing the “Ouchy Dance.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">But
I stand completely still. I know what she wants, but I’m not going to give it
to her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I’m not going to say “Sorry” about blowing up my Barbie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">It
was fun seeing the GI Joe and Barbie dolls blown up. If was fun pretending to
be the grieving mother of a dead soldier lost in the senseless tragedy of
Vietnam. It was fun pretending to be “Hanoi Jane.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">But,
most important, it’s a huge ego boost that I got the coolest boy in the sixth
grade to like me, that he gave me my first kiss, that he asked me to play
tennis. I’m not going to let my bitch of a mother steal my victory from me no
matter how badly she tortures me with the ouchy stick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">At
last, Mom stops spanking me. Nothing is said for several seconds. My tears
stop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“How
could you, Claire?” Mom finally asks in a wounded voice. “How could you destroy
your Barbie? Santa brought it to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“There
is no Santa,” I say firmly. “It’s my Barbie and I can do what I want with it.
Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What?”
My Mom asks. Her tone of voice is genuinely perplexed, not angry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Possession
is nine-tenths of the law,” I say, citing the maxim that we kids say when
refusing to return another kid’s toy that was left in a neighboring yard. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Though
it’s mainly younger children who rely on this rule in settling disputes over
found property, even to my more advanced 12-year-old brain the simple saying
justifiably fits the situation I’m in:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">It’s my Barbie and I can do what I want
with it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Just
go to your room,” Mom says. “I’ll call you when it’s lunch time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Fine,”
I shout as I depart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t want any lunch,” I call down from the
top of the stairs as I prepare to go in my room and slam the door. “I hate
you!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">----------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Less
than 30 minutes later, Mom calls up the stairs that my punishment is over and I
can come out of my room. But I don’t reply and continue to lie on the bed
reading the “Wizard of Oz.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">American
POWs captured by the VC spent years inside tiny bamboo cages. I can stay in my
room long enough to force Mom to come upstairs and beg forgiveness for spanking
me too hard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I’ve
got the complete series of “Oz” books penned by the author L. Frank Baum and
it’s been awhile since I’ve read all fourteen books back-to-back at breakneck
speed to prove my mental prowess. I had ample bran flakes for breakfast to
enable me to miss lunch without much discomfort, particularly as I didn’t burn
any calories this morning knocking a tennis ball against the garage door. I can
easily last till dinner time if I have to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I’m
about two-thirds through the “Wizard of Oz” when Mom calls out, “Claire, your
lunch is ready.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
don’t reply. Fifteen minutes and an impressive number of read pages later, I
hear Mom coming up the stairs. I lay down the book and roll over on my stomach
with the streaky red backs of my thighs displayed. I want Mom to see the full
measure of her evil.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">The
door opens of my room opens, but I don’t look up as I hear Mom set down a tray
on my night stand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Claire,
honey, I brought you some lunch,” says Mom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">She
continues: “I know I spanked you way too hard. I was upset about the Barbie
doll. You were so happy to get it that Christmas. I can understand if you want
to stay in your room this afternoon, but you’re welcome to come downstairs
anytime you want.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">That’s
it? No promises to never spank nor wash my mouth out with soap again and that
she’ll burn the ouchy stick?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">No
reply from me. Mom might as well be a female President Nixon apologizing for
the Watergate scandal by blaming her underlings and assuring the American
public she’s “not a crook.” I know from watching TV news and reading the copy
of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Washington Post </i>that’s
delivered to our house each morning that neither the American public nor
Congress is in a forgiving mood. I’m certainly not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mom
leaves. I wait until the sounds of her footsteps indicate she’s back in the
kitchen, then get off the bed and shut my door. Then I check out the lunch
tray.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Yum:
Bologna and melted American cheese on white bread, one of my favorite style
sandwiches!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And two large chocolate chip
cookies, one more than usual.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
eat the cookies first dunking them in my glass of milk. Then I eat the bologna
sandwich, dunking it in milk as well. Mom hates when I do that with a sandwich.
For good measure, I peel off the bread crusts and drop them in the milk glass,
which I leave unfinished. A nice soggy mess for Mom to clean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Sated,
I return to the “Wizard of Oz.” About an hour later I’m done. Next is “The
“Land of Oz,” which introduces the seminal character of “Ozma,” princess of Oz,
to Oz readers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">The
celebration of the “Dorothy” character in popular culture is unseemly to Oz
scholars such as me. “Ozma” is the true heroine when considering the literary
qualities of all 14 books in their entirety.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">But
before I begin the “Land of Oz” I have to pee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
open my door to walk to my adjoining bathroom. I can hear Mom talking on the
phone downstairs. From the conversation, I can tell she’s speaking to Dad about
me. But unlike usual when she calls him after I’ve been punished, she sounds sad
rather than angry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">My
bathroom needs completed, I return to my room, shut the door, lie on my bed and
begin reading page one of “The Land of Oz.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">----------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Three
hours later and I’m nearly done. Boy oh boy, am I impressive! No one can read
“Oz books” faster than me. Still, my brain is fatigued from the effort and I’d
prefer not to start my third Oz book before dinner starts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
hope Dad will be home from work soon. Then I can listen in enjoyment as Dad
scolds Mom in a loud voice that’s she’s too strict with me, that she needs to
cut me some slack and remember that I’m just a kid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mom’s
excessive discipline has been a regular point of contention between my parents
for the past year. I love Dad for defending me. My father is the “good parent.”
He never punishes me. He doesn’t have to. Just a few words to me of
disappointment from him are as painful as a dozen spanks with the ouchy stick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">To
my pleasure, I hear the sound of Dad’s car pulling into our driveway at 4:30
pm, a good hour earlier than normal. Dad never works past 5:00 pm. “If I
wanted to work late, I wouldn’t work for the federal government and federal
government pay,” Dad is fond of saying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Dad
enters the house. I walk over to my bedroom door and open it a crack looking
forward to the sounds of Dad giving Mom a good lecture. Hopefully it’ll end as
it sometimes does with her screaming at him and running up to their bedroom in
tears to slam the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Then
I can go downstairs to give Dad a sympathetic look, as I usually do after Mom’s
finished verbally abusing him, and go outside and put in good hour of smacking
a tennis ball against the garage door before dinner. I’m feeling kind of logy
from being cooped up inside all day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">But,
to my disappointment, I can’t make out what my parents are saying as they speak
in hushed tones. After several minutes they stop talking and I hear my Dad
walking up the stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
shut my door and hurry over to my bed and lie down on my stomach with my face
buried in my pillow and the backs of my thighs visible. The red streaks have
faded quite a bit in the several hours since my whipping, but there’s still
convincing evidence of Mom’s crime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Dad
enters my room and sits down beside me on the bed. I keep my face buried in the
pillow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Claire,
I spoke to your mother,” Dad says. “I told her she had no business spanking you
like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
try to work up a sniffle as I whisper “OK.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Darn
it, the tears won’t come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Dad
continues: “Your Mom knows she was wrong. She’d come upstairs and apologize to
you again but she knows you don’t want to talk to her now. We’ve talked and we
agree you’re too old for spanking. You’re not going to be punished that way anymore.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I’m
also too old to get my mouth washed out with soap,” I say in a voice slightly
above a whisper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I’m
going to tell her you’re too old to be punished that way as well,” Dad says.
“So how about coming downstairs now? Mom is making your favorite for dinner:
spaghetti.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look up at my father for the first time
since he entered the room. “OK,” I say in a normal tone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
follow Dad out my room and down the stairs carrying the lunch tray into the
kitchen. Mom is at the table arranging plates for dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
wash off the plate that held my sandwich and put it in the dishwasher. Then I
stick my fingers into the milk glass pulling out the soggy bread crusts and
wash them down the disposal. Then I wash out the glass and put it in the
dishwasher.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Mom
doesn’t look up from the dinner table as she says “Thank you Claire.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">And,
as much as I don’t want to say it, the words tumble out: “You’re welcome.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">----------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
walk down the stairs and through the kitchen the next morning. It’s twenty
minutes till nine, plenty of time to walk the mile to the country club for my
tennis lesson.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Even
though it’s 90 degrees and humid, I’m wearing sweat pants instead of a tennis
skirt. There’s really no need, there are just a couple of tiny bruises
remaining, nobody would know the difference.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Nobody
but one, and her punishment isn’t quite done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
pass by Mom. “Claire, why are…” Mom stops midsentence. She knows good and well
why I’m wearing sweat pants on this muggy July morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
walk out the door without saying goodbye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I’m
halfway down the driveway when I hear Mom call after me:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Have
a good lesson!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">No
answer. My walk turns into a jog. As I hurry along, I make a serving motion
with my right arm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Gotta
get loose. Gonna ask the tennis instructor to help me work on my serve today.
I’m one of the better girl tennis players of my age at the country club. I have
a great top-spin forehand and a decent two-handed backhand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">But
I haven’t really learned how to serve. When I hit the ball hard, it invariably
goes into the net so I usually lob my serves in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I’ve
seen boy-in-command play tennis. He’s OK, but not great. We both need to pick
up our game if we’re going to win the mixed-doubles category of the tennis
tournament the country club puts on for kids our age at the end of the summer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I’m
going to ask boy-in-command to be my partner for the tournament after we’re
done playing tennis tomorrow. Practicing together will maintain momentum of our
budding summer romance. I want to spend as much time together with
boy-in-command in the next two weeks because I have to go to summer camp in August and I know boys are fickle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Maybe
I can talk my parents out of sending me to camp. I’m really too old for kid
stuff like that. I’m practically a teenager.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
enter the country club driveway and hurry to the tennis courts. Worries about
boys, summer camp and a Mom who hates me enough to beat me with an ouchy stick
leave as I anticipate the pleasure of smashing a tennis ball around the court.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;">What
a great day!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span> </div>
</div>Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-82882267246730019982015-03-21T02:13:00.001-07:002015-03-21T12:47:02.023-07:00Too Many Upsets in "March Madness" Results in Wife's Well-Spanked AssA Gentleman Writes:<div><br></div><div>As a life-long resident of a Major Metropolis with requisite NFL, NBA, NHL and MLB teams, I consider enthusiasm for college sports an infliction shared by unsophisticates living in in Alabama, Kansas and other dullard states forming the "Pumpkin Patch." (Or as those of us important enough to fly first-class on business travel sometimes say "Flyover Country.")</div><div><br></div><div>As hiring partner for the firm, I do inquire as to an applicant's interest in sports, as effete fellows who spend weekends hunting butterflies and practicing the violin rather than cheering the home town's professional football, basketball, baseball and hockey teams won't fit in with the jocular nature of firm culture.</div><div><br></div><div>But I take a hard look at interviewees who express undue interest in college sports. Our firm consists of professionals at making money. Why take a chance on applicants who care about sporting efforts of amateurs?</div><div><br></div><div>So I was surprised when word got round that some of the younger fellows at the firm formed a betting pool based on results of the so-called March Madness college basketball tournament. I <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">considered firing them all for wasting time on such nonsense. But, after discussing the matter with a younger partner with more insight as to the ways of the "Milennial Generation," I changed my mind.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The fellows playing the pool don't actually care about the teams, only about the games' results, the younger partner explained. Similar to how we at the firm don't care about our clients, only the money we make off them. And while betting on March Madness games used to be the province of employees at saving-and-loans, office supply stores and other rubes, in recent years even those talented enough to work in Big Business have gotten in on the action.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">We partners aren't slavedrivers with our associates. In the course of the 16-hour work day, associates are permitted a stray minute here and there to glance at the internet and visit the water cooler or restroom. So long as associates aren't watching or listening to games at work via streaming media, just checking on scores, "March Madness" wagering is an acceptable diversion, I decided.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Moreover, as it's good management practice for a boss to take notice of his employees' outside interests, I decided it would boost office morale if I participated.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Initially I was at a loss as to how to fill out my bracket. Of course, I hadn't watched any of the teams on television. I doubt any of the associates watch much college basketball either, though as long as an associate clocks his 80 hours Monday through Friday, plus 12-hour "half days" on weekend, what he does in his spare time is his own business.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">From their conversation, I gathered the associates based their picks on high-powered analysis of team statistics. All well and good, I decided. The firm is in the number-crunching business, after all, so this March Madness activity is practically a training exercise. I contemplated billing the matter to a deep-pocketed client but realized that would be a bit of a stretch.</font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">However, I haven't used a spread sheet since I made partner a decade ago, so preparing my own analysis wasn't an option. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Finally, I decided to go with the experts and base my picks entirely on the brackets' official seeding.</span></div><div><br></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Playing it safe has always done well by me, as attending the right sort of preparatory school and college, choosing the right sort of major, entering the right sort of profession and choosing the right sort of first wife and her trophy successor made me the success I am today.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">For a high-powered, Type A, successful businessman such as myself, there's only one way to watch televised sports: sitting on my luxurious leather-upholstered couch before my movie-projector style TV with 120-inch screen, my shapely trophy wife spread across my lap so I can vigorously spank her bottom throughout the game to express joy for good play by my favored team and disappointment for bad.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">While I require my wife to be completely naked during games, I decided it would be fun to decorate her a bit. So for each game she must wear nipple clamps weighted with a locket resembling my favored team's mascot, plus a ball gag in team colors. (It's amazing what you can buy on the internet these days!)</font></div><div><br></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">While interviewing for a trophy wife, demonstrating an affinity for taking a sound spanking and the requisite round rump ranked high in the job's criteria. My trophy wife certainly meets the requirement and is a far improvement over her predecessor. (Wife number one wasn't into spanking and would only accommodate me by stuffing a pillow under her pants, hardly a satisfying option.)</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But I hadn't counted on so many upsets. We're only through round one and already several favored teams have been booted from the field. These so-called experts who prepared the official seeding of the tournament brackets obviously aren't Big Firm material.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I've spanked my wife so hard in frustration that she must cool her blistered behind in icy water in the bathroom sink for several hours post-game while I stick my aching hand in next to her. And my wrist hasn't hurt this much since we fellows at prep school realized they were spiking the cafeteria milk with saltpeter and quit drinking it.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">At round one's conclusion, I assigned our firm's token female associate, who's not participating in the March Madness betting pool, with a top secret assignment. She crunched the numbers and with so many upsets the odds of my winning the pool are unacceptably low.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">You strike me as pretty smart for a woman. Would it be bad form for me to cancel the betting pool and tell the associates to get back to work?</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Kind Sir:</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">While we normally have little in common with the moneyed set, I must admit that my husband and I share your disdain for college athletics.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Hubby was far too busy during his college years selling encyclopedias door-to-door during the day and attending class at night to pay attention to his school's athletic teams. Meanwhile, I went on scholarship to a private women's college, St. Scholastica Heart of Mary Sisters of Mercy School of Education and the Secretarial Arts. (Among my work-study obligations was serving as whipping girl so students training to be teachers could practice with the ruler.)</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Though my college, the Novitiates, was at one time a small-school volleyball power, the stubborn refusal of the NCAA to allow us to continue fielding teams clad in the traditional knee-length gymslip caused us to abandon sports.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">So while we watch in the humble living room of our 800-square-foot Chicago bungalow on a 12-inch black-and-white TV, professional sports, namely da Barez, Bullz, Hax and Sax, are what's televised in our home. (There is another well-known Chicago team, but they're famous mainly for losing and playing in a nostalgia-ladened park popular with tourists and we don't care about them.)</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But, no matter how trivial college sports may be, I certainly would call foul if you cancel your firm's March Madness betting pool. Such action would make you a poor employer, for just as you allow your trophy wife to enliven her day by mixing in trips to the gym and beauty parlor with overseeing the servants cooking and cleaning -- I assume a man of your means employs household help -- your firm's hardworking associates deserve their momentary recreation.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">While I don't know if you plan to watch the tournament's remaining games, I certainly don't feel you're obligated to continue spanking your wife during the contests. As my husband likes to remind me, spanking is for my benefit and his pleasure, and if neither end is being met perhaps you should try an alternate means of entertainment.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Instead of spreading your wife across your lap for spanking, perhaps you can allow her to forego a ball gag so she can kneel before you sucking your Big Unit. During half-time she can entertain you by doing cheers causing her nipple-clamped boobs to bounce up and down.</font></div><div><br></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">While my husband normally doesn't make me wear nipple clamps during discipline, the idea of wearing a pair weighted with a locket bearing resemblance of our favorite professional sports teams does sound appealing. Putting that on my list for an anniversary present.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsU07YEF2kQDtD7Y8wA6mTJQH2I9xhyB5jgq2u2ABkg-LmFZB_7aEn8GIeI8b9C0gdFDu5npYmSxq2_b_TZr7qhonguxbSwkC8DrHVpLVkVyJnjJFN0tw1qNSgrYqGdZu5_FBhJ0A0ag/s640/blogger-image-1714772692.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsU07YEF2kQDtD7Y8wA6mTJQH2I9xhyB5jgq2u2ABkg-LmFZB_7aEn8GIeI8b9C0gdFDu5npYmSxq2_b_TZr7qhonguxbSwkC8DrHVpLVkVyJnjJFN0tw1qNSgrYqGdZu5_FBhJ0A0ag/s640/blogger-image-1714772692.jpg"></a></div>Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-37017516389556122982015-02-15T03:27:00.001-08:002015-02-16T21:06:21.722-08:00Hubby's Valentine Gift of Snowblower Warms Wife's Heart. Excessive
Late-Night/Early-Morning Snowblowing Results in Wife's Warm Bottom.Dear 1950s Wife:<br>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
My husband is such a sweetheart and he never ceases to amaze me with the thoughtfulness of his gifts.</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">This Christmas he delighted me with a pair of custom-designed mink-lined pot holders and, being a New Year's baby, just a few days later presented me a fancy fly swatter with teak handle. (Being wintertime, I haven't used it on the little critters yet, but the implement works wonderfully as an impromptu punishment tool for minor offenses that don't require me to fetch the "naughty girl paddle.")</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Hubby having splurged, I certainly didn't expect a big-ticket item for Valentine's Day.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But with so much snow in the northeast this year, I did mention in passing to my husband the other day that my back was a bit sore from shoveling the driveway so often. Hubby graciously offered to take over the chore, but I could never stand for my man to do such 'skirt work." What would the other submissive wives in the neighborhood think if they happened to spy him shoveling away? They might get the wrong idea about "who wears the pants" in our home.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">We had a wonderfully romantic Valentine's night out, stopping first for dinner at an Italian restaurant</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> in the mall followed by a movie in the adjacent theater.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">(I recognized several of my non-submissive gal pals from the gym standing in line with their husbands to buy tickets for "Fifty Shades of Grey" but, as genuine practitioners of the 1950s domestic discipline lifestyle, my husband and I would never waste time watching such a trashy portrayal of so-called BDSM. We instead viewed the new "SpongeBob" movie. I recommend it highly!)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">A big nor'easter was due to blow through and by the time we arrived home from the show a couple of inches had fallen. Once Hubby pulled the Cadillac into the garage, I said I would fetch the snow shovel, as clearing the driveway now would mean less to dig out when it came time for us to drive to church in the morning.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But Hubby told me to never mind that. He opened my passenger door and helped me out, then turned me round and administered a firm swat to my bottom. He told to stand with my nose in the corner of the garage and not to dare peek out else I'd get licks with the naughty girl paddle.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">So I stood in the corner wondering what I'd done wrong. Perhaps I'd gone a bit too far in my light-hearted antics at the movie, including shouting out "Skidmark Testicles" when SpongeBob's friend "Squidward Tentacles" made his first appearance. I heard Hubby rummaging around in the utility closet and I worried</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> he might be looking for a length of rubber hose to whip me.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But then he called out for me to turn round. I squealed, not from fear but with pleasure. For what to my wandering eyes should appear but a brand-spanking-new snowblower wrapped up in ribbon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I rushed into my husband's arms and kissed him passionately on the lips.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Oh sweetheart," I sighed as our lips parted. "You shouldn't have!"</span></div>
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<br></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Naturally, I couldn't wait to try out my toy. The machine was gassed up and ready to go, so Hubby went inside to build us a fire in the den and I wheeled the snowblower out of the garage and gave the starter cord a rip.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Boy oh boy, what a sweet sound the engine made!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">As I wheeled the machine down the drive, chewed-up snow spewing out the side onto the yard,</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> my heart filled with joy at recognition of what a kind, loving husband I have. I couldn't help but break out in song and what else would I sing but the "SpongeBob" theme.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">With only a couple inches of snow to remove, plowing took just a few minutes. I was finishing rounding the edges of the drive when I spied the irritating elderly woman who lives next door walking determinedly across our yard wearing nothing but flannel pajamas, ratty housecoat, rubber boots and most unbecoming stocking cap.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I wasn't surprised at her costume: she and her husband are "outer borough people" who somehow managed to squirrel away enough pennies over the years from their blue-collar jobs to move from their 'Archie Bunker"-style bungalow in Queens to spend their golden years in our tony Westchester County suburb.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">As I turned off the snowblower, the neighbor stopped walking about halfway across our lawn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"What's da madda wit' use?" she growled at me in outer-borough-speak. "It's ten a' clock at night fer Pete's sake."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Just giving the driveway a plow. I'm nearly done," I replied politely. "What do you think of the new snowblower my husband gave me for Valentine's Day? Isn't it a dandy?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Aint'cha heard da weather report?" she growled. "It's gonna snow all night. Why da hell ya gotta plow now? And why use plowin'? Yer college boy husband too soft fer da job?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"My husband is in plenty good physical condition, thank you very much," I replied curtly. "But he works very long hours at his bank preparing alternative payment plans for people such as your husband who've fallen behind on their mortgages. So I do all the house and yard work."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The woman scowled at me even worse. But she said nothing. She knows I know that my husband sent her husband a letter the other day inviting him to come by the office for a "consultation." They've missed two payments. One more and my husband will call in the foreclosure lawyers unless he can be convinced to show mercy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I continued: "Now if you'll excuse me, I've a bit more plowing to do."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The woman turned to go. But just before I pulled the </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">snowblower's starter cord, I heard her mumble "stupid bitch."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Well that does it," I said to myself. "This old woman needs to learn to mind her Ps and Qs."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I bent over and scooped up a handful of snow. I'm certainly not the butch-dyke girl-jock type. But Dear Ol' Dad was a Yankees fan and I spent many summer nights playing catch with him in the back yard. Roger Clemens has nothing on me. My snowball knocked the old lady's stocking cap right off the back of her head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The old lady turned round, her face beet red. She marched furiously towards me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Stop right there. You're trespassing on private property,' I shouted. "Private property that I might add includes several hundred thousand dollars in home equity, the balance of the loan being subject to an interest-only loan 75 basis points below the prime rate, a fee only available to the most credit-worthy borrowers."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The woman stared at me in bewilderment shaking her head. "Yer one crazy bitch," she finally said. "I'm callin' da cops."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">As she turned to walk home, I realized that, while I was naturally taken aback to be insulted by a social inferior, I may have gone a bit far in beaning a woman 40 years my senior in the back of the head with a snowball and the police would likely take her side. Though I was confident my husband's position as a BMIOS (big man in our suburb) would spare me getting arrested, Hubby would certainly beat my bottom black and blue for causing trouble.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I rushed over to her. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Please, no need for that," I said. "I apologize. You're right. It's far too late to use a snowblower."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I continued: 'A little bird told me that you and your husband are in a bit of a pinch with your mortgage. I'm going to talk to my husband. I'm sure he can work something out with his bank. And, if you play nice, I'll let your husband borrow my snowblower to earn extra money clearing neighbors' drives."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"OK. OK," the woman said, pulling her stocking cap back on her head. "Just no more snow blowing tonight."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I watched the elderly woman return to her house, then wheeled the snowblower back in the garage. I was a bit irritated that I wasn't able to finish the job by getting the edges of the drive perfectly square. But it probably didn't matter that much. Two more feet of snow were on the way.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I put my coat in the closet by the front door and walked into the den. My husband was sitting on the couch in front of a roaring fire. He'd uncorked a bottle of wine. I sat down next to him and nestled in his arms.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I was still a bit flustered from coming out on the losing end in the argument with my irritating neighbor. But a glass of wine helped restore my mood. So did the warm-up hand-spanking that came next, followed by my husband carrying me upstairs, throwing me on our bed, stripping off his clothes and mine and climbing aboard for bed-shaking sex. It was only a few moments after he rolled off of me that I fell fast asleep.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> -----</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I awoke at the crack of dawn and looked out the bedroom window. The snow had stopped.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">While we didn't appear to get the two feet that were predicted, many more inches had fallen since evening. But with my new snowblower, the driveway could be cleared in a jiffy, leaving me ample time to prepare Hubby's hearty breakfast of flapjacks, scrambled eggs and T-bone steak and finish my beauty preparations for church.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I changed into winter clothes, entered the garage and wheeled the snowblower onto the driveway, all the while whistling the happy tune of the "SpongeBob" theme song. I pulled the starter cord of the machine and commenced to plowing.</span></div>
<div>
<br></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">With my high-powered snowblower, the job was done in a matter of minutes. I looked at my watch. Plenty of time to get breakfast made. So much time, in fact, that, just to show there were no hard feelings, I decided to do a neighborly good deed.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I'd only been plowing the neighbors' drive for a minute when the old lady's husband stuck his wizened face out the door. He was hollering something but I couldn't make it out over the snowblower's roar. I turned the machine off.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"What da hell use doin'?," he shouted. "It's da crack a dawn, fer Pete's sake!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Naturally, I was taken aback at his angry reaction. But I still managed to politely reply that I was trying to help them out clearing their drive with my new snowblower, that way they wouldn't be pressed to make it to church on time.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"We ain't going ta church today. We went ta mass last night," the old man sputtered. "Monday through Friday fer 40 years I gets up at 5:00 am ta get ta da loading dock on time. I sleeps in on Sundays."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">He paused to shake his head, then shouted: 'What da hell is wrong with use,</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> ya crazy bitch? Ya wuz runnin' dat damned machine when we wuz tryin' ta sleep last night. Ya wakes us up today. Get da hell offa my property or I'm callin' da cops!"</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The old man slammed the door. I turned to go, tears rolling down my face at his impertinence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Such crust," I muttered as I wheeled the snowblower back</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> to my garage. "Try to do a good deed and look what happens. Serves me right for trying to make friends with uncouth 'outer-borough people'."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I put the snowblower away and walked into the kitchen. By the time I finished my morning cup of coffee, I felt a bit better. Time to get started on breakfast, I thought, but then I heard our beloved pet bulldog "Sparky" waddling down the steps. Sparky scratched at the kitchen door letting me know he needed to go out in the back yard to "do his business."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I retrieved his leash and a paper bag and led him into the back yard. (Our busybody town council recently banned the use of plastic bags at the grocery store. Consequently I must spend good money at the pet store on overpriced "environmentally correct" poo bags made out of recycled paper.)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Sparky took his time pawing at the snow but finally found a suitable place. His turd was rather impressive. I made a mental note to check the size of his feed rations more thoroughly. I bent over and picked up the steaming piece of poo and placed it in the bag. Then inspiration struck.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I took Sparky back in the house. Of course, neither I nor my husband smoke. But we do keep a box of matches on hand to light candles in case of a power outage.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I walked out the garage onto our paved driveway then onto the street. Best strategy is to not be furtive, I thought, but to walk straight up to their front door. If they happen to see me out the window I can pretend I came by to apologize.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I clomped through the neighbors' snowy driveway onto their porch. So far so good. I pulled the paper bag and box of matches from my coat, bent down and lit the bag, pausing for a second or two to make sure fire took hold.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Then I rang the bell and ran.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> ----------</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">My husband speaks animatedly to the police officer at the front door. I cower in a corner of the kitchen. Normally, Sparky defends the home by barking vigorously. But, sensing the gravity of the situation, he cowers in the corner with me.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"I can assure you officer that neither I nor my wife would do such a thing," my husband says adamantly. "I'm a high-ranking executive at our town's local bank, head of the mortgage department. My wife's in the Junior League. We belong to the country club. I'm a Yale man, for Pete's sake."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"I don't care if you went to Yale, you and your wife are going to jail if you don't fess up," the cop says.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"There are foot prints in the snow leading from their front door to your garage. The prints are from a distinctive style of female L.L. Bean winter boot. You own a dog. There are remnants in the feces of a particular type of dog treat sold only at the fancy pet store on Main Street. Now I'm asking you again: does your wife wear such a shoe and do you feed your dog such a treat?"</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">My husband looks over at me. The policeman taps his foot. Sparky whimpers. I clear my throat.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">They say confession is good for the soul. But it's not so good for the bottom. Boy oh boy it sure was hard to sit through the Sunday sermon on those hard wooden church pews without wiggling after my husband was through with me.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The good news is Hubby talked the cop out of issuing me a ticket after assuring him he'd make good with the neighbors. The good news for the neighbors is that my husband worked out a very lenient mortgage forbearance plan that will allow them to catch up on their missed payments. More good news for them in that I will be clearing their driveway of snow at no charge for the rest of the winter, making sure to never run my snowblower too late at night nor too early in the morning.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">And the neighbors and I are starting a snow-clearing business for neighboring driveways that will last until their mortgage payments are caught up. The old man and his wife are managers. I'm the employee. And if my husband hears one word of complaint from the neighbors about my attitude, he's paddling my backside 50 shades of red.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Oh well. At least I get to use my totally awesome snowblower!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I can only trust this humbling experience taught you the duty of respecting one's elders, even if they speak in working-class "outer borough" accents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Good luck to you and the neighbors in your snow-removal business. More good news exists in that the lower cost of gasoline from plummeting oil prices will increase your profit margin.</span></div>
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Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-25528111893582837142014-12-24T15:32:00.001-08:002014-12-25T01:23:32.270-08:00A Brand-Spanking-New Chastity Belt: Perfect Christmas Gift for a Young
Bride with Wandering HandsA Gentleman Writes:<div><br></div><div>At the mature age of 39, I thought I was ready for the responsibilities of marriage. But I fear I made a major misstep in being far too lenient with my much-younger bride.</div><div><br></div><div>You see I intended to forbid my wife from watching daytime TV, as Dear Ol' Mom advised me that a new bride not yet accustomed to routine and drudgery of housewife life might be tempted to waste time watching soap operas, judge shows, hen party gab fests and other frivolous fare that should be spent cleaning house, cooking dinner and washing clothes.</div><div><br></div><div>When I informed my bride of the rule, tears streamed down her pretty face as she sobbed that she wouldn't be able to gossip with her gal pals at the gym about news from her favorite daytime talk show, "Jibber Jabbering with Jenny," the new show hosted by Jenny McCarthy now that she's been fired from "The View."</div><div><br></div><div>Seeing my wife cry tugged at my heart strings so that I'm afraid I put aside Dear Ol' Mom's warning about woman's ability to produce crocodile tears at will. Moreover, recalling Jenny McCarthy on TV from my college years in the 1990s as a fine specimen of femininity, I rationalized by telling myself that her show would likely include advice on breast-enhancement exercises, beauty tips, love-making skills and other useful information that would aid in my wife's role as help meet.</div><div><br></div><div>So, in exchange for my wife washing my Cadillac every Saturday, which will boost my time watching sports from my customary 15 hours to 18 per weekend, I agreed she could watch "Jibber Jabbering with Jenny" for 30 minutes per day during the week.</div><div><br></div><div>Alas, fool that I turned out to be, I didn't bother to program the TV with parental controls and left the matter on the honor system. All was well and good for a week until car trouble forced my return home shortly after I left for work one morning to use my sports car instead.</div><div><br></div><div>(In case you're wondering, my wife has no car of her own. I figure there's no sense buying her a mini-van till we have a "bun in the oven." And, as Dear Ol' Mom points out, having her own car would tempt my wife to indulge in illicit excursions to the shopping mall during the day to sample freebies at the perfume counter and what not. Our local grocery store is just two miles away, so it's no hardship for my wife to use a bicycle with buggy attached to haul groceries back.)</div><div><br></div><div>I was a bit perplexed when my wife didn't meet me at the door as I assumed she'd hear my Cadillac entering the driveway. I was further preturbed upon entering the vestibule to hear the TV blaring from the living room.</div><div><br></div><div>But I hadn't actually asked my wife what time of the day "Jibber Jabbering with Jenny" comes on. I'd assumed the program broadcasts in the late morning or early afternoon, rather than 9:00 am, but I could be wrong I told myself as I walked to the living room.</div><div><br></div><div>Imagine my shock then as I entered the room and saw a "Batman" movie starring George Clooney on the tube!</div><div><br></div><div>No wonder my wife didn't notice my return home, as she was lying across the couch, her eyes half shut and hands under her skirt, rapturously moaning, "Batman, oh Batman! Stick your bat pole up my butt hole, please dear Batman!"</div><div><br></div><div>My wife sat up on the couch with a startle as I shouted "Busted" at the top of my lungs. I switched the TV off, strode to the couch, threw my wife over my shoulder and carried her upstairs to the bathroom. After thoroughly soaping her mouth, scolding her all the while for masturbating without my permission, I grabbed hold of my wife's earlobe and marched her to the bedroom.</div><div><br></div><div>I ordered her to strip while I retrieved the "naughty girl paddle." Upon my return, I sat across the bed, ordered my wife across my lap and commenced to beat her bottom as red as Robin-the-Boy-Wonder's vest.</div><div><br></div><div>While she may have been fantasizing about George Clooney a few minutes earlier, there was no question my wife knew who attended to her bottom as I paddled her posterior.</div><div><br></div><div>"Oh Hubby, please Hubby, my bottom's on fire," my wife cried as tears rolled down her face. "Please stop spanking me. I'll be good!"</div><div><br></div><div>Her fanny fried, I ordered my wife to stand in the corner of the living room with her hands on her head while I considered the next phase of her punishment.</div><div><br></div><div>I walked downstairs to my study and closed the door. While I of course maintained my manly composure when disciplining my wife, as I sat alone in my study brooding over her betrayal with Batman I was the one with tears rolling down my face.</div><div><br></div><div>When a man's upset, there's no one better to seek solace from than his mother. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Thank goodness I called. It took just a few minutes of Dear Ol' Mom's wise counsel to make me realize suicide was the coward's way out.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Divorce was discussed, but Dear Ol' Mom wisely noted I live in a community property state and thus would forego half my savings. I </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">certainly didn't work my tail off the past 15 years building my successful insurance agency only to see half my wealth go to some silly woman who'd waste it all on a life of unearned luxury lying on the couch all day masturbating to George Clooney movies on TV.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">No, after talking to Mother, I realized the problem was I simply hadn't put in the time to properly train my young bride. The manly thing to do was to "put on my big boy pants" (one of Dear Ol' Mom's favored expressions in encouraging me to face hardships), accept my marital responsibilities and attend to the task at hand.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">First step was programming the TV's parental controls. Wise woman that she is, Dear Ol' Mom knew step two: outfitting my wife with a chastity belt to wear while I'm at work or otherwise away from her presence.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Astutely recognizing this problem may arise, Mother already researched chastity belts available for sale on the internet. While the modern chastity belt is certainly well manufactured, allowing the wearer to attend to her bodily functions while simultaneously preventing any erotic stimulation front or rear, leading brands can be quite expensive, Mother noted.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">As she's talented at crafts, Dear Ol' Mom offered to create one for me.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">There's nothing Mother enjoys more than putting her hands to good use. (The luxury cat house she built with its automatic food-and-water dispenser and self-cleaning kitty litter box that she uses to store her beloved pet "Whiskers" while away from home is a marvel to behold.) I could hear the excitement in her voice as she described the belt.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Mother said she'd attach paper machet to a pair of panties my wife's size to create a light and comfortable, but completely impenetrable, shell. She'd create a drawstring out of highly durable plastic very difficult to cut that can be drawn tight at the back and securely fastened with an attached lock. The legs of the garment would also be fitted tightly with durable plastic to prevent creeping fingers from below.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The belt would be dyed a feminine shade of pink with "Mustn't Touch" embroidered on the front and "Solely for Hubby's Use" on back.</font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Mother noted this style of chastity belt forces the wearer to ask permission for removal to attend to bodily functions, thus reinforcing the wife-in-training to accept that use of her private parts is subject to her disciplinarian's whim. A disposal diaper can be placed inside in the event of accidents with the disciplinarian to decide how long wife must suffer being "wet" and/or "stinky."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I must return to work the day after Christmas, but Dear Ol' Mom is flying in from Florida on December 26. (Mother insists on spending Christmas Day with her cat Whiskers.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Mother's been on a tight budget ever since Dear Ol' Dad died and I know she was a bit embarrassed she could only afford to give us a modest wedding gift. Presenting my wife with a handcrafted chastity belt on Christmas would show how much Dear Ol' Mom cares for our happiness.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Mother also noted that spending two weeks after Christmas in daily company with my wife as she regularly lectures her about the evils of masturbating without permission and that the proper wife never fantasizes about anyone other than her husband would certainly strengthen their mother-daughter bond.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">And once Dear Ol' Mom returns to Florida, the kindly spinster lady who lives next door can be recruited to be available to unlock the belt while I'm away should my wife need to ask permission to go. As a token of our gratitude, Mother can build a state-of-the-art dog house for the spinster's beloved pet "Spot."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Having Mother build the belt would save a lot of money and that way I can still present my wife with the new lawn mower I'd planned to give her on Christmas.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">You strike me as pretty smart for a woman. What's your suggestion on a chastity belt: manufactured or hand-made?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Kind Sir:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I support the notion that prohibiting the submissive wife from masturbating without permission is reasonable.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Moreover a wife should be reminded whether by spanking or other suitable punishment that dwelling on a visage of someone other than one's husband when touching one's nether regions is a definite no-no, particularly if the imagined assignation is with someone as unattractive as George Clooney. (Can't stand a man with pomade in his hair.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">And I'm all for a mother-in-law taking a hand in training the new wife. In the early years of our marriage, Hubby insisted his mother stay with me while he was away on business trips to ensure I didn't slack on my housework nor watch forbidden soap operas and to spank me when needed.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But, while others may disagree, I firmly believe that interfering with a wife's ability to attend to her bodily functions, especially making her wear a diaper, is not an appropriate part of the 1950s lifestyle.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">So I'd go with a manufactured chastity belt. With your income as a successful insurance agent I'm sure you can afford to give one to your wife as Christmas present and the lawn mower too.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Lastly, from the tenor of your note, I can't help but wonder if you might be a bit too reliant on advice from your mother. Now that you're a married man, perhaps the time has come to cut those apron strings.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Note: The name of Jenny McCarthy, a public figure, is used fictitiously. So is the reference to the TV program "Jibber Jabbering with Jenny."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br><div><br></div><div><br></div></div>Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-5831706534686340762014-10-30T22:02:00.001-07:002014-10-31T05:17:29.366-07:00Naughty Wife Plays Halloween Trick on Hubby. Treated to a Spanking!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear 1950s Wife:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I thought I'd play a funny trick on my husband for Halloween. Boy oh boy, did I learn <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">that some things are no laughing matter!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It all began a few days before Halloween when I overheard some gal pals at the gym talking about sexy costumes they'll wear for their husbands' benefit on Halloween night<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">. It sounded like a neat idea, except I knew I'd need to think of a more-creative costume because the outfits they mentioned are what I wear everyday.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For example, I always wear a sexy French maid's outfit during the morning as I dust the furniture, mop the floors, vacuum the carpet and scrub the toilet and tub.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My husband enjoys checking in on me from work via Skype during this part of the day for a mid-morning tug, particularly when I'm bent over scouring the toilet bowel with my short skirt riding up my ass and frilly panties on display. And, even during days when he has meetings or otherwise can't keep his office door closed, doing housework in a teeny-tiny dress, stockings, garters, six-inch pumps and a cute little maid's cap atop my head reinforces my belief that there's nothing sexier than keeping a clean house for my man.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After lunch, I devote the afternoon to laundry, including ironing my husband's button-down shirts dollar-bill crisp, and preparing the evening meal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I work up a sweat from the iron's steam, not to mention the physical exertion of pounding dough for fresh-baked bread I serve with dinner and tenderizing the beef. So, for my afternoon outfit, I wear a gossamer thin cooking apron over bra and panties. (For comfort's sake, I change into more sensible four-inch heels.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hubby usually likes to check in around three o'clock via Skype for a mid-afternoon tug. So, a few minutes till, I slip off my underwear underneath the cooking apron leaving my nipples and bush practically exposed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I also hold ice cubes against my nipple for five minutes till they're rock hard. Thus, even if work duties don't afford my husband sufficient privacy to close his office door and enjoy the smart-phone sight of my nearly naked body as I pound dough and beat meat, my nipples practically poking through my thin apron, I still benefit from the cooling sensation of iced tits.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My husband arrives home from work at 5:30 pm. A few minutes prior, I change into a cocktail waitress dress for our hour of martini time and pre-dinner blow job.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hubby likes to watch sports on TV after dinner. (With satellite TV we can count on a game being on throughout the year, even if it must be a cricket match played in India or sumo wrestling in Japan.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">So, after I've washed and put away the dishes, I change into a bosom-enhancing, midriff-baring, panties-peeking-out "naughty cheerleader" outfit. I </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">spend the game bent over my husband's lap on the couch. He spanks me with his hand to celebrate good plays by his favored team and to vent frustration if the opponent does well.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">During halftime, I roll off Hubby's lap to entertain him with cheers about what a great guy he is and how lucky I am to have a dominant man who spanks me soundly for my faults. At game's end, I'm either on my knees giving Hubby a victory blowjob or bent over a chair for swats with the "naughty girl paddle" if the opponent wins to remind me to cheer harder for the home team next time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For the final act of the night, I wear nothing but my "birthday suit."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My husband takes me to the bedroom, puts me over his knee and spanks me long and hard. Then he tosses me across the bed, strips and climbs aboard so we can finish the day with the most important of my wifely duties, providing my husband with three hours of bed-shaking sex!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I was really stumped as to what to wear to surprise my husband when he came home from work on Halloween night. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Then inspiration struck: instead of dressing sexy in my everyday style, I'd wear the scruffy outfit of the so-called "liberated" non-submissive wife.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I figured if I was going to play the part I might as well go all out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rather than hopping out of bed at 5:30 am as usual, I slept untill my husband got up at six and asked him if he wouldn't mind making himself cereal for breakfast as I wasn't feeling well. Hubby was so gracious in the way he mumbled "I guess I can" that I almost lost my nerve. But, as I thought about the good laugh we'd share after I let him in on the joke that night, my resolve returned.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As soon as my husband left for work, I changed into my "costume": raggedy jeans and tee-shirt and a pair of smelly sneakers that I usually only wear when I don't want to ruin good clothes doing really grubby work, such as cleaning the gutters.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't bother to dust. Instead I turned on the TV. As my husband programmed the set to display only sports channels, it took awhile to figure out how to change to stations that broadcast shows non-submissive wives at the gym like to talk about.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, I must tell you that one morning of daytime TV is more than enough for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The morning news programs aren't too boring -- I'm particularly impressed by cute clothes and stylish blonde hairdos sported by the gals on 'Fox and Friends" But the way the people hoot and holler on the 'judges shows." So unpleasant. I'd find them all guilty!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My husband called at 10:30 am. I clicked "answer" and quickly positioned the phone's camera so it only showed my face.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I hope you're feeling better dear," Hubby said with a big grin on his face. "I've got a boner that just won't quit and the tub could really use a good scrubbing."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His smile turned to a frown. "No makeup today?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh honey, I didn't have time to put any on," I breezily lied. "A friend from the gym called. She's a campaign volunteer for this man running for town council and I agreed she could come by this morning so I could help her lick envelops. He's a Democrat but he sounds very sensible."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I told my husband goodbye and hung up the phone before he could reply.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I watched TV for another hour then had lunch. I was starting to feel really bored and I almost took a roast out of the freezer. I could easily catch up on the morning's cleaning while the meat thawed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But my resolve to play my prank to the end returned. I was going to spend the day as a liberated, non-submissive wife even if it practically killed me of boredom!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I retrieved a trashy romance novel I hid under the bed that I'd been meaning to read for months.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sprawled across the bed reading. The pages turned, but I couldn't concentrate. I looked at my watch. Twenty minutes to three, the time Hubby normally calls for a mid-afternoon tug.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Suddenly, I lept from the bed and tossed the romance novel under it. I tore off my grubby jeans and tee-shirt, retrieved my gossamer thin cooking apron and a pair of heels. I went into the bathroom and quickly put on makeup. Then I raced down the stairs to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of ice cubes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No time for the roast to thaw, but I'll get something together for dinner, I said to myself as I held the cubes to my nipples. I was so preoccupied calculating how to get a day's worth of cooking, cleaning and laundering done in just two-and-half hours before my husband returned home that I scarcely felt the chill.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I looked at my watch. One minute to three. I tossed what was left of the ice cubes in the sink. I held my smart phone up so the camera faced my chest and waited for the call, my heart beating wildly with anticipation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seconds passed. I looked at the phone: 3:01 pm. More time passed. Another look: 3:02.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My heart beat slowed, replaced by a sinking feeling in my stomach. I waited three more minutes, then glum realization set in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hubby wasn't going to call for his mid-afternoon tug.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I felt tears fall down my cheeks. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Boo Hoo Hoo!" I cried. "I want my husband. I want Hubby!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I sobbed, the sting of iced nipples at last registered in my brain. I walked into the den and reached into the liquor cabinet to pour myself a stiff drink.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I downed the drink in one gulp. The warmth flooding through my body removed the chill in my tits, but didn't improve my mood. I poured another drink and turned on the television. Dr. Phil was scolding a marital couple about mutual misdemeanors.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I sipped my drink, I felt a buzz come on and took an interest in the program. The wife appeared the more guilty of the pair and Dr. Phil was giving her a good talking-to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You tell her, Dr. Phil," I shouted at the TV. "She's a bad woman. Bad wife. Bad!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The program finished. I looked at my watch. Five o'clock. Nothing to do now but wait.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went to the kitchen sink, washed my empty glass, and returned it to the liquor cabinet. I walked upstairs and took off my cooking apron, undies and heels. I retrieved the "naughty girl paddle" and walked downstairs in my birthday suit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took a foot stool from the den and brought it to the entrance way by the front door. I bent over and laid the paddle across the crook of my back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The twenty minutes I must wait here for Hubby to get home is part of my penance, I told myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ----</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Honey, I'm home," my husband shouts as he walks through the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I awake with a start. I must have dozed off. Hubby looks at me with a bewildered expression.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What are you doing bent over a stool naked like that?" he asks. "We usually have a drink before we get frisky."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh honey," I cry not daring to get up. "I've been a very bad wife. I need to be spanked."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"There, there. It can't be as bad as all that," my husband consoles. "Now get up off that stool and tell me what happened."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I feel the tears begin to flow as I rush into his arms. As my husband holds me tight, I burble out my tale of woe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"My friends at the gym were talking about how they were going to surprise their husbands by putting on sexy outfits for Halloween night, but I dress that way for you everyday cuz I love how you want me so much that you call home on your camera phone from work for a tug," I sob.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"So I thought I'd do something different and dress up as a lazy wife to prank you when you got home. And then I thought it would be cool to see what it's like to actually be a lazy wife. So I sat around all day watching TV and I haven't done a lick of housework and there's no dinner and by the time I realized it was a bad idea it was too late and I felt so guilty that I had a couple of drinks and now my head's all fuzzy. Oh boo hoo hoo! Boo hoo hoo!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My husband just holds me and says 'there there" and "I'm not mad." At last I calm down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My husband can tell I'm feeling better.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Very well, young lady," he says. "I can tell from your tears that you feel bad but Daddy must still make sure his little girl learns her lesson."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yes sir, Daddy," I say.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Now go upstairs and put on your 'spanking suit'. Then meet me in my study," he says. "'Lil' Miss Sassy Britches' needs to get reacquainted with 'Mr. Hairbrush'."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yes Daddy."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I walk upstairs to the bedroom and retrieve the little-girl-style party dress, ruffled panties, plain bra, white knee socks and Mary Jane shoes. This isn't an everyday outfit. I only wear it at special times like now when a special sort of discipline is needed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I put on the costume and walk downstairs to the study. I knock on the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Come in."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I enter the room and shut the door behind me. I take a few steps till I'm standing before him. I stand as I've been trained, with my hands clasped behind me looking straight ahead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He stands and reaches out with his right hand to cup my chin with his palm lifting my head slightly so I look straight into his eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Do you know why I've called you to my study?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yes sir, Daddy. Cuz I've been naughty."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"And what happens when you're naughty?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I get spanked. On the bare. With the hairbrush."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Very well. Place yourself across my lap please."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I comply. He lifts the pleats of my party dress and pulls my panties to mid-thigh. He rests the face of the hairbrush on my bare bottom. Then come the inevitable words:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I'm hate to spank you, young lady, but I wouldn't be a good Daddy if I didn't correct you when you misbehave. This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He applies 25 firm spanks, twice my age and one to grow on. Not so much for the grown me, but more than enough to bring tears to the eyes of Lil' Miss Sassy Britches.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You may get up," he says.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I rise and, pull up my panties, and wipe my eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He opens his arms. "Give me my hug," he says. I rush into his arms.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a minutes, we release each other from our grasp.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I should make you do thirty minutes of cornertime, but not tonight," he says. "Trick-or-treaters will be here soon and Lil' Miss Sassy Britches needs to give out candy. Then she and Daddy are going out for hamburgers and ice cream."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Hamburgers and ice cream. Hooray!" I cry. "Oh Daddy, I love you!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He's made me go out dressed as Lil' Miss Sassy Britches before. Normally I don't like it. It's so embarrassing for people to see me like that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But no worries tonight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's Halloween!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Good woman:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can certainly tell that you've learned a good lesson from this experience. While I'm all for a good laugh, humor has it's proper time and place. Just as the operating theatre is no setting for a surgeon to make jokes, the wife who aspires to the 1950s lifestyle knows that the domain of hearth and home is sancrosanct and no place for pranks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For next year's Halloween, might I suggest an appropriate prank such as playing "ding, dong, ditch," on an irritating neighbor's front door and leaving a lighted paper bag full of doggie poo for them to step on. Or perhaps TP'ing their yard.</span></div>
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Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-7867732961726640502014-10-05T21:50:00.001-07:002014-10-07T02:12:42.232-07:00Naughty Wife Acts Up In Hubby's Tailgate Party Teepee. Gets A "Redskin."Dear 1950s Wife,<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I generally support a rule of no TV during the day for submissive wives, as we women are otherwise apt to squander valuable time watching soap operas, "Dr. Phil," "Judge Judy" and other empty-heady fare that would be better spent cleaning house, cooking dinner and washing clothes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But as the spouse of a high-powered "Inside-the-Beltway" D.C. political operative, I make exception for myself, as I must be familiar with important current events to fulfill my role as a proper lobbyist's wife.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Consequently, from my 5:00 am wake-up to oversee cook preparing Hubby's hardy breakfast of flapjacks, scrambled eggs, biscuits, bacon and T-bone steak, throughout my busy day supervising the maid's cleaning our 10,000-square-foot home, my afternoon hour on the treadmill, during dinner and right up until 11:00 pm lights out following our customary three-hours of bed-shaking sex, Fox News plays loudly on all eight of our household TVs.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">(I do turn the volume down during "martini time" after Hubby's return from work so I can listen appreciatively to his tales of the day's lobbying success before administering his pre-dinner blowjob. Also during the 30 minutes after supper he devotes to lecturing me for my faults and spanking me with the "naughty girl paddle" reminding</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> me to be a better wife.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">As Fox News concentrates on serious issues, rather than "infotainment" and liberal blither-blather that dominates reporting and commentary on other networks, I'm as well-versed as a woman can be on all critical issues, including the subject that's dominating high-powered political discussion in D.C. at the moment: busy-body liberals' campaign to force Washington, D.C.'s professional football team to drop the nickname "Redskins."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">How anybody can object to an east coast city using a caricature of a Great Plains Indian as team mascot is beyond me.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Sure the name "Redskin" had a bit of negative connotation back when cowboys and pioneers were settling this Great Land of Ours. But these days the term clearly means </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">to honor the bravery of those marauding red raiders of the west as they descended on horseback on U.S. Calvary camps armed solely with bow-and-arrows, only to be sent to stay forever with The Great Spirit in the Sky after being mowed down by the Calvarymen's Springfield carbine rifles and Colt revolvers.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Besides, "Redskins" has been Washington's nickname for a long time, since 1937. If these "Johnny-come-lately Indians" don't like it, they can go back to wherever they came from.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">With football season's return, Hubby and I are going the extra mile to show our support for our team and it's nickname.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">As a high-powered lobbyist, Hubby considers it a wise use of firm funds to lease a 50-seat luxury skybox suite at the Redskins home stadium. It's a great chance to network with congressmen and their top-level aides, key players in the executive branch, high-powered corporate executives and other VIPs. And because we always give one of the 50 tickets to an underprivileged child, Hubby can write off the suite's cost as a tax deduction.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">(By the way, I've been pleasantly surprised by the strong work ethic of the kids invited to the games who come from lower-income D.C. neighborhoods. Give them a broom and dustpan and promise of a dollar tip for sweeping up dropped beer bottle tops and cocktail napkins and they keep our suite as clean as a whistle. Obviously it's only the temptation of cushy welfare benefits as adults that prevents them from putting that work ethic to good use later on as high-powered professionals and business executives for Fortune 500 corporations.)</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Along with the suite, Hubby's lobbying firm also shells out a pretty penny for a large block of parking spaces in the VIP section of the lot adjacent to the stadium. </font><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">It's our custom to set up tables in the lot to serve our guests champaign, caviar, foie gras, oysters Rockefeller, frog legs and other tailgate treats prepared by one of D.C.'s finest chefs.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">In years past, we've used a standard outdoor party tent to shelter the tables. But this season, with our team's venerated nickname under attack, we decided to show support by using a custom-made teepee in Redskins' team colors of burgundy and gold with the Indian mascot's war-painted face painted on it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">While my normal game outfit is a smart dress, silk scarf, stockings, heels and pearls, this season I wear a buckskin mini-dress that barely covers my bloomers, mocassins and a hairband with feather attached.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">We got to the most-recent home game two hours early. I was pleased to see the teepee assembled -- my husband commandeered his firm's interns for the task and to serve guests drinks and food -- and the hors d'oeuvres prepared. Guests</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> soon arrived and, as the champagne flowed, our teepee hummed with conversation and laughter.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Just for fun, men at the party greeted each other with "Indian names": "Him Whose Son Got Into Harvard" and "Him Whose Law Firm Grosses $100 Million in Annual Billing" are a few I remember. As more champagne was consumed, good-natured joshing took over and the names became dirty, including "Him With Puny Pee-Pee" and "Him Whose Squaw Won't Give Head."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Though my husband and I are ardent Republicans, I'm under strict orders to strike a bipartisan tone at social gatherings, as Hubby's lobbying efforts involve both sides of the aisle.</span></div><div><br></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I was a good girl at first.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But, as I'm fond of saying, even though we've lived in D.C. twenty years now, "you can take the gal out of Orange County, but you can't take the 'Orange County' out of the gal." I'm afraid I had one too many glasses of champagne and, before you know it, I was in a heated conversation with a gal who didn't take too kindly to my descriptions of the many moral failings of our thankfully-soon-to-be-ex-President Barrick HUSSEIN Obama.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I didn't take her for a Fellow Traveler at first, as her blonde curls, pearls and Lily Pulitzer dress made her resemble the standard southern sorority girl a few years out of college working the Congressional GOP circuit. So I was taken aback when she wrinkled her nose when I cheerfully noted that the impending Republican takeover of the Senate in mid-term elections means a quick impeachment of Obama for his many high crimes and misdemeanors, thus sparing our country two more years of mismanagement and malfeasance.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"What high crimes are you referring to," she asked sarcastically in an accent far too "Bostonian" for my liking.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Almost too many to mention," I said. "Saluting a proud member of the armed forces with a cappuccino in hand. Taking too-long vacations at taxpayer expense playing golf and walking on the beach in Hawaii rather than a quick weekend in a budget motel at places real Americans go to, such as Mrytle Beach and Panama City. Refusing to admit that he's a Muslim. The list goes on and on!"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Well, this "Jackie Kennedy wannabe" wouldn't back down, shouting at me that I sounded like a typical ignorant "Tea Partier" who gets all her misinformation from "F-A-U-X News." She spoke at me with such vitriol that finally I decided to cool her down by tossing my drink in her face.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">She tossed her drink at me and the next thing you know we were in a full-on face-slapping, fingernail-clawing, hair-pulling girl fight!</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">This girl is several years younger than me, but shorter and not nearly as limber dressed in her knee-length Lily Pulitzer dress as I was in my buckskin miniskirt. And no Indian maiden put up as much fight wrestling a wild bear as I did battling this bitch.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">After drawing fingernails full of blood clawing her face, I yanked her by the hair and dragged her across my knees. Then I lifted her floral skirt, yanked down her panties and spanked her bottom several times with my hand shouting "Say Uncle!"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But before she did, I heard a man shout "Girl Fight!" in a drunk voice and my combatant and I were sprayed with champagne. I wiped foam from my eyes to see the man is a well-known billionaire hedge fund manager fond of making large-scale political donations.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">He stumbled over and poured the rest of his champagne bottle over us.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">'Come on you bitches," he shouted. "Let's have a wet tee-shirt contest. Get up and shake your titties!"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Another man came by and led the hedge fund manager away. The rest of the party quickly dispersed from the teepee. The only ones left were me, my combatant, my husband and a person I recognized as an older Democratic congressman from an Appalachian state.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">My husband lifted me to my feet and the congressman helped my combatant up.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">My husband turned to the congressman and said "Congressman, I'm sure you'll agree that's it's best to keep this matter as quiet as we can. I'll pay for the dry cleaning of your aide's dress, any medical bills she may incur due to the scratches on her face, and, if you determine it's appropriate and consistent with House ethics rules, a gift of some sort to compensate for her pain and suffering."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Hubby continued: "An intern at my firm was helping out at the party. He's already used his cell to call my second-in-command and you can be sure our firm is treating this episode as an 'all-hands-on-deck red-button-crisis alert.' I can assure you that, as we speak, all who may have witnessed this unfortunate incident are being contacted and made to see the wisdom in not mentioning the matter to the media."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Well, that's mighty thoughtful of you," the congressman drawled. "But I 'spect my aide and I don't have much to worry 'bout. This lil' gal is the daughter of one of my closest friends from my Army days, we were POWs together in Vietnam. He's on his death bed now, got the cancer, but I bet he'd be mighty glad to hear his lil' filly has a mess of fight in her, whether he reads it in the paper or hears it from me. And, while my constituents don't think too kindly of President Obama these days, they still think well of me. I'm not too worried about not being re-elected."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The congressman continued: "Young man, there's been a sad change in politics in our country since I first ran for Congress so many years ago after being released from that bamboo POW cage way over yonder in Vietnam. Oh sure, we Donkeys and Elephants had in our differences back then. But even in the darkest days of Watergate, a sense of politeness in public discourse carried the day. We respected the Office of the President, even if we sometimes disagreed with the actions and decision of the man holding said office. Nowadays, I'm afraid most of that civility is lost."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">My husband interjected: "Congressman, you've given me a brilliant idea. A million dollar donation, with perhaps more to come, to establish a non-profit, bipartisan organization dedicated to restoring civility in politics with much of that money earmarked to pay the salary of your aide as executive director. What do you say?"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Oh I don't think that will be necessary young man," the congressman said. "I'm grooming this 'lil gal to take over my job some day. Don't have children of my own you see."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The congressman continued: "I 'spect 'bout all we'll need is an apology from your wife to my aide. A heartfelt one. Then this matter shall go no farther."</font></div><div><br></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Crisis resolved. My husband beamed.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Oh, she'll apologize," Hubby said. "And it will be heartfelt. I can guarantee that!"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Boy oh boy did I get spanked hard. Hubby turned me over his knee, flipped up my little buckskin skirt, pulled down my bloomers and made my bottom so hot with his hand that I'm surprised it didn't send off smoke signals.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">After he finished, I stood up and hopped from one foot to another, frantically rubbing my backside as I shouted "Ouchy, Ouchy!"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The congressman chuckled: "That's a mighty fine rain dance your squaw does. I hope the game doesn't get rained out."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">After I settled down, my husband ordered me to kneel before the congressman's aide and kiss her hand.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Then I was made to say: "Please accept my humble apology for my atrocious behavior. I must always remember to be respectful to those with differing opinions when talking politics. I must also remember that, though I didn't vote for President Obama and I disagree with some of his policies, I must respect the Office of the President by not referring to the president, no matter which political party he or she represents, in rude terms."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The congressman's aide accepted my apology, though I could tell from the look in her eye that she was loving every second of my humiliation.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Well that's settled," the congressman said. "Let's get going. Game's about to start. Go 'Skins! Take some scalps!"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But I had to sit in our Mercedes during the game as further punishment. My husband made one of his interns return to the car to keep an eye of me and make sure I didn't sneak a listen to the game on the car radio.</font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">And when we got home, Hubby informed me that an underprivileged child will use my ticket for the remaining Redskins home games this season. I must sit in the naughty chair facing a corner of the living room during the games with no sound on the TV and our au pair watching me to make sure I don't peek out.</span></div><div><br></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I know I was bad, but don't you think a spanking and sitting in the car for one game is enough punishment? I don't care about actually watching the games, but I love the pre-game tailgate parties.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">And don't you agree that "Redskins" is a perfectly fine nickname for a football team?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Good woman:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Never do I cease to be amazed by the excesses of the moneyed set.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">When my husband and I sit down on the sofa in the parlor of our 800-square-foot bungalow to watch our beloved Chicago Bears on our 12-inch black-and-white TV, we certainly have no use for champagne, caviar and other high-priced delicacies. He's perfectly content snacking on fried beef jerkey and beer ice cream I make for him, while the jello salad I treat myself to is more than sufficient.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But I take heart that, despite his lust for power and riches that accompany the lobbyist's lifestyle, your husband is still "down home" enough to recognize the need to properly punish you for your faults.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">My wish is that, as you sit in silence in the naughty chair during remaining Redskins home games, you realize the error of your ways and resolve to forego foolish attachment</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> to creature comforts. Perhaps then you may convince your husband to use his considerable political skills to benefit the commonweal, as evidenced by the wise Appalachian congressman and trusty aide you describe in your note, rather than pursuit of filthy lucre.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">As far as the nickname "Redskins" is concerned, my alter ego recalls fond memories as a child and young adult living in the Washington, D.C. area cheering for the football team during its glory years in the 1970s and 1980s.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But, while not much heed was paid to the issue back then, there's no dispute that, unlike the no-longer acceptable words "colored" and "Negro" in referring to an African-American person, the term "Redskin" has from the beginning been a pejorative term meant to cast aspersions and it still carries that meaning. The time has come to give it up.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Or, as my alter ego has seen expressed on Facebook posts on the subject, change the mascot to a "redskin potato."</span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqkc87Bh_9TRvGoRGLvC6wIh7XAMYMtQvf00XmJwIAKZDY3Hrhl2NZLb7qUf7CeoaCazUnKAiNrFsrBM3OfoTFIIjw3vw2VLVBGC4kTmB9cerboOM3KTRqkOC0xaEr-5eCBAbwGSw8w/s640/blogger-image-564462922.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqkc87Bh_9TRvGoRGLvC6wIh7XAMYMtQvf00XmJwIAKZDY3Hrhl2NZLb7qUf7CeoaCazUnKAiNrFsrBM3OfoTFIIjw3vw2VLVBGC4kTmB9cerboOM3KTRqkOC0xaEr-5eCBAbwGSw8w/s640/blogger-image-564462922.jpg"></a></div>Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-7813121699007528752014-08-25T00:42:00.002-07:002014-08-25T04:42:57.186-07:00Submissive Wives Suffer "Ice Undies Challenge" for a Good Cause<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear 1950s Wife:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My husband forbids me using Facebook, Twitter, You Tube and such because he wisely knows I'd waste precious time chitchatting with my gal pals about cute cat videos and other silly stuff that should be spent cleaning house, cooking his meals and laundering his clothes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I likely would never know about the craze crossing the country via social media of the "ice bucket challenge" in support for research into treatment of ALS disease except by overhearing a couple of ladies at the gym talking about their plans to participate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Learning details from them, I decided that, even though our husbands forbid us using social media applications, our town's submissive wives should figure out a way to participate in such a worthy cause. So I dialed up the party line when I returned home and organized a coffee klatch the next morning at my house to discuss the project.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we sipped black coffee -- sugar and cream aren't allowed on my diet and my husband wisely refuses the artificial stuff to be included in the grocery budget when beer, beef jerky, T-bone steaks and other necessities he enjoys cost so much -- we planned our participation in the challenge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we're used to our posteriors being painfully paddled by our husbands for even slight housekeeping errors, we agreed that subjecting ourselves to the momentary discomfiture of dumping buckets of ice over our heads was not much of a challenge.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kneeling on peas for an hour or holding pennies with our noses against a wall for the same length of time were discussed -- my husband subjects me to both punishments at times as part of post-spanking reflection and, believe you me, neither are much fun -- but we decided a video of such activity wouldn't be very entertaining should we figure out how to sneak one up on You Tube.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One gal who lives out in the country suggested we poke ourselves with cattle prods but that idea was discarded as a bit too extreme.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally one wife who works part-time as a wedding planner came up with a brilliant suggestion: As elaborate ice sculptures are often part of wedding reception decorations, this gal figured it'd be no problem at all for the sculptor she uses to carve sets of bras and panties out of ice for us to wear.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even on an extra hot summer day, ice undies would take an hour to melt, she explained. Subjecting our breasts and buns to icy cold for that length of time would be far more impressive than dumping ice over our heads. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moreover, the videographer this gal hires for weddings would be quite capable of producing a tasteful video of the event with no "full-frontal nudity" with the use of camera angles and special effects also obscuring our faces. The videographer would post the film on You Tube, thus sparing us from breaking our husbands' "no You Tube" rule and the inevitable spankings should they find out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And the ice sculptor and videographer would likely be willing to do the projects for free as a way of publicizing their businesses, the wedding planner gal said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I told her she could borrow the phone and she raced into the kitchen. I heard the tumble of her turning the rotary dial as fast she could and excited talking. A few minutes later arrangements were final.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We would undergo the "ice undies challenge" the very next day. As my husband insists on a privacy fence -- Hubby likes to spank me immediately rather wasting time marching me into the house if he discovers I miss a spot mowing the grass and obviously doesn't want neighbors who don't appreciate the 1950s lifestyle spying my discipline -- the event would be held in our back yard.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wives, ice sculptor and videographer showed up the next afternoon right on time. I also noticed an elderly woman I didn't know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The wedding planner explained that the woman is her maiden aunt who's a retired school teacher. Having taught back in the day in a rural school where "reading and writing and 'rithmatic were taught to the tune of the hickory stick," the elderly lady would serve as referee, the wedding planner explained.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It would take an hour for our ice undies to disappear. As time went on, a gal might be tempted to put hands over her partially-melted bra or panties to try to warm herself up. If so, the retired schoolmarm would restore her resolve not to cheat by delivering a scarlet stripe across the thighs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On cue, the elderly lady looked over, smiled and waived her whipping rod in the air.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The ice sculptor unpacked a dozen sets of ice undies. Even though the sculptor and the videographer are men, we wives are so used to stripping on command for our husbands for discipline or sex that we weren't a bit embarrassed to pull clothes off and put frosty bras and panties on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The videographer took his position and, on his cue, we assumed our poses of hands crossed over heads, chests thrust forward and bottoms arched back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"This is our town submissive wives' 'ice undies challenge' to raise money in support of research into treatment of ALS disease," we called out in unison. "We challenge submissive wives across the country to undergo the same test."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then we smiled pretty for the camera and waited for our undies to melt.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even though it wasn't a particularly hot day for August, the dry ice of my bra and panties felt pleasant at first when pressed against my warm skin. But, as the undies began to melt, I felt discomfort, merely irritating at first but slowly becoming more and more unnerving.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To make matters worse, mosquitos seem particularly drawn to the taste of my blood. (It's because I'm so sweet, my husband likes to tease.) Of course, I covered my arms, legs and neck with bug spray and even dabbed a bit on my forehead and cheeks.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I didn't think to put any on my boobs and butt. And wouldn't you know it, as soon as my panties melted enough to bare the tiniest bit of flesh, a mosquito swooped in and took a healthy bite out of my ass.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I grinned and bared it for what seemed like the longest time. But the itching bite coupled with the discomfort of what I imagine it would feel to wear a diaper dipped in ice water began to drive me crazy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally I could stand it no more. I glanced out the corner of my eye. The schoolmarm didn't appear to be looking in my direction so I slid a hand behind me and started to scratch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"THAWCK!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As usual with a cane stroke, I felt only a minor burning sensation across my thighs at first. A half second later, the pain flooded through me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Ouchy, Ouchy!" I cried as I hopped up and down. "That hurt."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Get back in place with your hands over your head or you'll get another one," the schoolmarm scolded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"But Miss," I whimpered "My butt itches!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Despite the obvious discomfort the other wives were in -- I'd heard sniffling from most of them for several minutes before I dared scratch my bottom -- several of them giggled at my comment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I don't care. None of the other girls are scratching their behinds," the schoolmarm said. "Assume the position."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mournfully, I put my hands back over my head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The ice was starting to melt full force now, water streaming down my stomach from my disappearing bra and down my legs from my half-gone panties, but time still felt like it stood still. Some of the other wives progressed from sniffling to outright crying and moaning.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally my bra and panties were nearly gone. I estimated one minute of the ordeal was left.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Hurry, God, Hurry," I said to myself. "Please melt my undies."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At last just a frosting of ice remained. I counted the seconds and at the tenth, the schoolmarm shouted:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Time's up girls."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I immediately put my hands to my breasts and rubbed as vigorously as I could.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Holy shit, feel my tits," one gal shouted at me, "See how cold they are!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I complied. Before you know it, we were all feeling each other up and laughing uproariously. The we pulled each other together in a group hug, luxuriating in the warmth returning to our bodies.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After we were sufficiently warm, the wedding planner opened bottles of wine. (The liquor store she uses to supply wedding receptions donated it in an exchange for a promotional announcement in our video.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I opened a patio door, pulled the stereo next to it and put a record on playing my favorite 1950s rock-and-roll songs. We had a sock hop on the lawn except we weren't even wearing socks, if you get my drift. After a couple glasses on wine, the schoolmarm got into the swing of things, stripped down to her birthday suit (circa 1930 if I had to guess) and did a vigorous jitterbug.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The party broke up around 5:00 pm. The wedding planner and the videographer were the last to go. The videographer said it would take a couple of days to prepare the video and post it on You Tube.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He again reassured me that the video would be tastefully done with no full-frontal nudity and our faces blurred. He also said he would put a caption in the video encouraging people impressed by our "ice undies challenge" to donate money in support of research into treatment of ALS disease that includes web addresses for organizations involved in such work.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't know how I did it, but in the hour I had left before Hubby returned from work I managed to shower, dress in my customary housekeeping outfit of stockings, heels, pearls and a smart dress, touch up my hair, put on makeup, get the roast that was cooking out of the oven and on the table and mix my husband a martini.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just dropped an olive in the drink when I heard the "toot, toot" of his horn in the driveway. I met Hubby at the door with his drink in my hand and a kiss on the lips.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He took me by the hand into the den and sat back in his easy chair. As Hubby sipped his drink, I knelt before him, unzipped his fly and began massaging his "Big Unit" in preparation of administering a pre-dinner blow job.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Boy oh boy, was the office boring today," Hubby sighed. "How was your day?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh, you know, same old same old," I said. "But I'm never bored. You know how much I love being your wife."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I rubbed for another minute till Hubby was hard. Then I opened my mouth and leaned in.</span><br />
<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It seemed like forever for the two days pass for the video be ready to upload on You Tube.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I knew I dare not sneak on the site to look at it, as my husband checks our computer's history cache. But the wedding planner's husband lets her use You Tube for work-related purposes and her looking at our video certainly seemed within the spirit of the rule.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The wedding planner told me she'd call at noon. I was by the kitchen phone and answered on the first ring.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was surprised to hear the wedding planner sound so glum.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Go into your computer room and call up You Tube," she said in a solemn voice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I can't. My husband will spank me for using that site," I protested.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Believe me that's the least of your problems," she said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My heart pounded as I walked into the computer room. I knew to type youtube.com in the web browser, but, never using the site before, was as a loss as to what to do next.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I picked up the phone next to the computer. When the wedding planner told me what to type into the You Tube search bar, I was shocked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Why did the videographer use such a dirty description," I shouted into the phone. "And what in the world is a 'MILF'?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It's an abbreviation for a disgusting phrase I don't even want to say out loud," the wedding planner said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I typed the description into the search bar feeling like I should have my mouth washed out with soap for writing such naughty words. A video came up and I clicked to play it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Call me back when you're done watching," the wedding planner said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The video was exactly what I expected at first. We wives, our faces blurred, stood in a row wearing our frozen bras and panties and shouted in unison that we were participating in the "ice undies challenge" in support of raising funds for ALS research. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Though it took an hour for our underwear to melt, the video was just 20 minutes long. The film included a stop watch in the upper left-hand corner showing passage of time, including jumps ahead in the action.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The video was perfectly fine at the beginning. But, after the first jump ahead in time, it was clear the videographer's promise of no full-frontal nudity was just so much hot air.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not only that, but there were plenty of close-up beaver shots, including one that I recognized right away. I knew my husband would recognize me from that shot alone, as he's very particular about how he likes me to style my hair, both up top and down below.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course the video included the whole incident of the schoolmarm whipping my thighs after catching me scratching my ass, including a close-up shot of the swelling cane stripe. The last part of the film included us gals feeling each other up to get warm at the challenge's conclusion and scenes from our nude dance party on the lawn.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The videographer even included a scene of the octogenarian schoolmarm doing her nude jitterbug.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The video done, I turned off the computer. I was so angry my face felt like it was on fire as I called the wedding planner back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I rarely curse, as my mother had a real problem with young ladies using bad language and washed my mouth out with soap when I was a child for saying even mild profanities. But I must admit that I swore like a sailor as I cursed out the wedding planner for using such an untrustworthy videographer. If dear old Mom heard me talking, she would have used the whole bar as punishment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After I calmed down, the wedding planner told me what happened. The videographer normally charges several thousand dollars for such a project, she said. As he worked for us for free, apparently he felt entitled to make an X-rated version of the event for his own personal use along with a tamer video to post on You Tube.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Unfortunately, the videographer posted the dirty version on You Tube by accident. He realized his mistake almost immediately and deleted it, but in the 30 seconds it was available someone else reposted it. The video went viral in a matter of minutes and was certain be one of You Tube's most-watched videos ever.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the good news is that with so many people watching it, the "Ice Undies Challenge" was sure to raise a lot of money for ALS research, the wedding planner said. And at least the videographer had the decency to blur our faces.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The wedding planner pleaded with me to telephone the other wives and explain the situation so she wouldn't get yelled at, but I told her she'd have to call the gals and take her lumps like a good submissive woman should.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hung up the phone and walked into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of wine left over from yesterday's party and poured myself a glass.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I spent the rest of the afternoon sipping wine and munching sugar cookies that I normally only eat on special occasions. I didn't even bother with my afternoon chores. I knew I was going to get spanked hard when Hubby got home whether I cleaned house or not, so I figured I might as well give myself the day off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I turned on the TV and flipped from station to station. News of our video being a You Tube sensation was played on several stations, including CNN, MSNBC and FOX News.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thank goodness none of the reporters were able to identify us. I congratulated myself for having the good sense to only socialize with our town's couples who practice the 1950s lifestyle. The submissive halves of those couples were in the video and none of the them were going to call the news stations to confess that we did it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As it got close to time for my husband to return from work, I put the wine and sugar cookies away. I'd drunk three glasses and had a bit of a buzz.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I walked to the closet where we store spanking implements. I knew my husband would have no choice but to discipline me with the heavy wooden paddle that he uses when I've been exceptionally naughty.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The face of the board is 12-inches long and attached to a six-inch grip with holes drilled into the face to make it sting more. Hubby nicknamed it "Mister Blister Bottom Crisper."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I heard the "toot toot" of my husband's car entering the driveway. I prostrated myself by the front door with my face on the floor and "Mister Blister" resting on my back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My husband opened the door. "What are you doing on the floor," he asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh honey, I've been really, really bad," I cried from my spot on the floor. "I've disgraced myself."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"There, there, it can't be as bad as at all that," my husband said. "Now stand up and tell me about it."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I stood up with tears streaming down my face. I cried the whole time as I confessed my misdeed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My husband is not the sort of man to be moved by a woman's crocodile tears. That's one of the many reasons why I love and respect him so much. So I was surprised that, once I finished my confession, he didn't march me right away into the soundproofed closet we use as "punishment room" for a session with "Mister Blister."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My husband pulled his handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and wiped my tear streaks away. Then he pulled me close to him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You didn't do anything wrong," Hubby consoled. "This was for a good cause and it's not your fault the videographer took advantage of you. Fortunately he has a line-of-credit for his business at my bank which I'm going to freeze as punishment."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He continued: "You gals' faces were blurred so most likely no one will ever recognize you. And I must agree with the wedding planner: the steamy version is getting so many You Tube hits that it will certainly raise far more money for ALS research than the tame version."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My husband told me to put Mister Blister away and meet him in the computer room. By the time I returned the implement and walked to the computer room, Hubby had called up You Tube and was chuckling at the video.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You did right by fessing up," Hubby said with a grin. "You would never have gotten away with not telling me. I'd recognize that hair patch anywhere"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I knelt next to my husband with my head in his lap. As the video played, I felt his "Big Unit" rising to attention. I unzipped his fly and leaned in.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I did get a mouthsoaping for my misdeed but with a different kind of "soap." And it certainly didn't feel like a punishment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Good woman:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Though I'm normally not a proponent of "the end justifying the means," in your case I make an exception. I congratulate you and your fellow submissive wives on the success of the "Ice Undies Challenge."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And to you dear readers, may I remind you that this story is fiction and the "Ice Undies Challenge" is not safe to do, no matter how worthy the goal. Real-life frost bite is no laughing matter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But just to prove that, unlike the videographer in this story, I'm not just full of hot air, I promise to donate all royalties from the next thirty days from sales of my anthologies "The Best of 1950s Wife" and 'The Best of 1950s Wife Vol. 2," plus a $50 matching contribution, to charity in support of research into treatment of ALS disease.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Copies of the books may be purchased by clicking on the following links: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Best-1950s-Wife-Claire-Colinsgrove-ebook/dp/B00DFNWC0K/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1408951776&sr=1-2">The Best of 1950s Wife</a> and</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbBh5pUH1nvtY2K8GxZHzWEStTqN6lSTDunp4j1Wc4eJNok49rhReKNyXmMDHi2_rDFZNNguMgj2MmAVBae6UWyTCRtKFBWQYnoiP0szbbFnPiSz5ZxxwgGCusvYMz863KF1zGpGKthQ/s1600/content_5141863_DIGITAL_BOOK_THUMBNAIL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbBh5pUH1nvtY2K8GxZHzWEStTqN6lSTDunp4j1Wc4eJNok49rhReKNyXmMDHi2_rDFZNNguMgj2MmAVBae6UWyTCRtKFBWQYnoiP0szbbFnPiSz5ZxxwgGCusvYMz863KF1zGpGKthQ/s1600/content_5141863_DIGITAL_BOOK_THUMBNAIL.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Best-1950s-Wife-Vol-ebook/dp/B00MW8IJH4/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1408591971&sr=1-3&keywords=claire+colinsgrove">The Best of 1950s Wife Vol. 2</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don't delay. Get your copies today. Lots of laughs will come your way, plus you'll be doing a good deed too.</span><br />
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Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-46381200792912986792014-08-20T21:47:00.000-07:002014-08-21T09:17:05.559-07:00Presenting "The Best of 1950s Wife Vol. 2"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2S7vET_ZpEDfaqVsk55KFdTI3T9ObyMlwddBHtPm1wBOxiPziTK_2T6WjZeDpFS2paJocP4U9lefpLNCnUF4vpH7ESe2isrCy42jRJnjT2XnCgyx3RsUo4Y2uQI-DvSByyStEVZjldw/s1600/1950s+Wife+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2S7vET_ZpEDfaqVsk55KFdTI3T9ObyMlwddBHtPm1wBOxiPziTK_2T6WjZeDpFS2paJocP4U9lefpLNCnUF4vpH7ESe2isrCy42jRJnjT2XnCgyx3RsUo4Y2uQI-DvSByyStEVZjldw/s1600/1950s+Wife+cover.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="caption">Gals can't stop gabbing about 1950s Wife and her hot tales of naughty wives getting red tails from stern spanking spouses. Her first short-story anthology, "The Best of 1950s Wife" cracked the coveted Top 100 sellers list in the Amazon category Humor & Entertainment>Love, Sex & Marriage.</span><br />
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<span class="caption">And whether you're a gal or a guy, her latest release "The Best of 1950s Wife Vol. 2" has something for everybody!</span><br />
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<span class="caption">Baseball fans may savor the flavor of corporal-punishment-style comeuppance given to a snotty socialite in "Naughty Northshore Madam Taken Out to Ball Game. Then Taken to Woodshed." Nordic sports enthusiasts can cheer competitors in the "Spanked Wife Winter Games." Legal scholars may pleasurably peruse the plain text of traditional values promoted in "Supreme Court Affirms 1950s Lifestyle: Back to the Kitchen Bitches!" Fashion mavens may cheerfully "cluck cluck" at the "Naughty Wife Caught in Pajamas During Day. Spanked that Night."</span><br />
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<span class="caption">All this plus more, including a special guest star appearance by The Rev. Hornee Hanly, totally awesome dude, delivering his learned opinion on the fascinating subject of "Christian Domestic Discipline."</span><br />
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Don't delay. Get your copy today from Amazon.com for the reasonable price of $2.99 by clicking the following link: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Best-1950s-Wife-Vol-ebook/dp/B00MW8IJH4/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1408591971&sr=1-3&keywords=claire+colinsgrove">The Best of 1950s Wife</a><br />
Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-59030460764744083112014-07-01T04:24:00.001-07:002014-08-20T21:48:13.186-07:00US Supreme Court Affirms 1950s Lifestyle: Back to the Kitchen Bitches!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><b>This story is now included in my latest anthology "The Best of 1950s Wife Vol. 2," which may be purchased for ready read on your Kindle from Amazon.com for the reasonable price of $2.99 by clicking this link: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Best-1950s-Wife-Vol-ebook/dp/B00MW8IJH4/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1408591971&sr=1-3&keywords=claire+colinsgrove">The Best of 1950s Wife Vol. 2</a></b></span></span></span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"></span></strong><br />Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-73541709007969937332014-06-16T18:36:00.001-07:002014-06-16T21:13:49.684-07:00World Cup Blows: LiterallyA Gentleman Writes:<div><br></div><div>I normally don't watch soccer on TV as I prefer more rugged sports such as American football, ice hockey and professional wrestling for my spectating entertainment. But, as a proud American, I will cheer for the USA in the World Cup.</div><div><br></div><div>When it comes to televised sports, I'm rather lenient with my wife and let her join me on the couch to watch regular season games and non-marquee wrestling match-ups.</div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But when football and hockey playoffs and high-priced pay-per-view wrestling are aired, my wife sits in the naughty chair facing the living room corner with ear muffs on so she won't distract me with silly questions and observations such as "why do they call it 'football' when players feet hardly ever touch the ball?," "hockey players have sexy butts," and "professional wrestling looks fake."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">With the World Cup consisting of so few fixtures -- if the USA doesn't make it out of the group stage we'll only play three games -- I naturally consider televised matches to equate to "naughty chair time" for the little woman.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">So I was rather taken aback when my wife complained that she should at least be allowed to watch USA play its three "group-stage" games. Of course I turned over over my knee, lifted her skirt, lowered her panties and spanked her bottom cherry red for challenging my decision.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But, as I've mentioned, being on the permissive end of the husbandly spectrum, I ultimately decided a compromise could be reached.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Instead of sitting</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> in the naughty chair wearing ear muffs, once the TV is switched on, my wife will place herself naked across my lap on the couch. During the pre-match analysis, I'll give her plump behind a resounding spank with my hand every time a commentator says the word "ball."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">This will ensure my wife is in proper submissive mindset and my manhood properly charged for her task during the Big Game: blowing my Big Unit.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Once the match begins, my wife will kneel before me, unzip my fly and take my nine-inch shaft deep into her throat, sucking diligently throughout the game. And, every time USA scores a goal, I'll celebrate the occasion with a Fourth-of-July-worthy explosion, blasting my love juice down my gal's throat.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">(I'll permit a five-minute break after each goal to allow my wife to gargle with mouth wash and brush her teeth and for my batteries to recharge. I'm also allowing her a break at half time, as long as she maintains complete silence so I can concentrate on the experts' game analysis</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">. The first peep from her and she's sitting in the naughty chair till the second half begins.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Must sign off. USA's first match of the tournament is about to start. (I'm typing this message on my smart phone with my left thumb while using my right hand to spank my wife. The commentators said "ball" </font><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">several times during the pre-match analysis and my wife's backside is beet red.)</span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Hoping for lots of American goals. Let the fun and games begin. USA!! USA!! USA!!</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Kind Sir:</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">What a loving husband you are, allowing your wife to enjoy the audio portion of big soccer game and the pleasure of sucking your Big Unit at the same time. Two treats in one!</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">My husband no longer makes me sit in the naughty chair while sports are on TV, as I've learned from many spankings over the years not to disturb his concentration with silly questions and observations that untrained wives are apt to make.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But I found your plans for the Big Game so intriguing that I asked Hubby to treat me to the same.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">As we're nearing our golden years, we normally require more preparation before indulging in such recreation. </font><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">My adrenalin is pumping, though, and I've managed to loosen my jaw with the aid of a banana held in my left hand while typing this reply with my right. Now I'm off to the "powder room" to put on a shade of "blow-job red" lipstick and fetch Hubby an ED pill from the medicine cabinet.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Hubby just turned on the TV. I can hear the crowd's chanting. It's almost like being in Brazil.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">USA!! USA!! USA!!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-50799053125478644442014-06-09T17:42:00.001-07:002014-08-20T20:44:07.699-07:00May a Gentleman Splash Semen in His Sweetheart's Face?<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue Light", HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><b>This story is now included in my latest anthology "The Best of 1950s Wife Vol. 2," which may be purchased for ready read on your Kindle from Amazon.com for the reasonable price of $2.99 by clicking this link:</b></span></span></span> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Best-1950s-Wife-Vol-ebook/dp/B00MW8IJH4/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1408591971&sr=1-3&keywords=claire+colinsgrove">The Best of 1950s Wife Vol. 2</a></span><br />
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Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-90497041439751661942014-04-16T01:55:00.001-07:002014-05-04T18:47:12.053-07:00Bent, Bared, Beaten. What's Next? Spanking "Aftercare" Analyzed<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A Gentleman Writes:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I recently acquired a wife and am training her. I seem to have a handle on the pre-spanking scolding, and, judging from how she hops around frantically rubbing her bottom shouting "Ouchy! Ouchy!" after I've given her a dose of the "naughty girl paddle," the spanking part is coming along nicely as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But colleagues at work and the gym who practice the 1950s lifestyle talk of providing "aftercare" to their wives following a spanking. I fear I may not be up to speed on the procedure. Can you elaborate?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kind Sir:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Certainly. Just as in every aspect of wife training, ritual is key.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once she's done entertaining you with her "after-spanking dance," your wife must perform a display of affection and a recitation to show she's truly remorseful for her misbehavior and properly thankful for her loving correction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Depending on how hard you spanked, she may need a few moments after dancing for her sobs to cease and nose snot to dry. Then, after you've granted your wife permission to pull her panties up, she must curtsy sweetly, kiss you softly on the cheek and recite a saying of gratitude.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As my housekeeping is sterling and adherence to my husband's commands nearly always absolute, Hubby normally spanks me each night after dinner for my general well-being, not for specific rule violations. (As Hubby says, "spanking is for the wife's benefit and the husband's pleasure" and I've learned not to question the reason why.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Consequently I'm required to say "Thank you Daddy for spanking me so long and hard. I know you do it because you love me and care about how I behave," rather than show remorse for specific misdeeds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The recently married wife, however, is more apt to actually break her husband's rules, though usually due to the carelessness that stems from a woman's flighty mind rather than willfulness. Thus, you may want your wife to specifically account for each misdeed and solemnly promise to try her best not to do it again, always paying close attention to her tone of voice to ensure genuine remorse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even the slightest hint of insincerity in her recitation should be dealt with severely. Rare is the wife to be so bold as to roll her eyes or to let a note of sarcasm slip in during her apology. But if you feel your wife is not properly enthusiastic in saying sorry, return her to her customary place across your lap and spank away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once trained, a wife will accept spankings as a matter of course and a sign of her husband's love.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the young wife, less sure of her self and desperate to please the man who gives her life purpose, often needs reassurance of forgiveness following a spanking. So, after recitation is done, you may want to allow your wife to sit in your lap for a few minutes with her head against your chest as you soothingly say "there, there" and wipe the boo-hoo stains from her cheeks with your handkerchief.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Next comes the post-spanking blow job.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some couples new to the 1950s lifestyle are curious why this particular sex act is an essential component of post-spanking aftercare. Reasons are twofold:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One, a wife kneeling before her husband to take the 9-to-12-inch penis typically sported by the "Alpha Male" while erect deep into her throat till it tickles her tonsils is the ultimate act of sexual submission. (The more modern among us may argue for anal sex as an alternative, but I'm an old-fashioned gal and never have been too fond of that particular procedure.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two, as a red-blooded, virile man, the sight of your wife's round behind turning crimnson as it bounces up and down from application of the naughty girl paddle (and the feel of her soft, warm skin if you spank her with your hand) will naturally produce a raging hard on. And you certainly can't be expected to suffer the discomfort of a "stiffy" left unattended, or the humiliation of self-abuse, during your wife's several minutes of post-spanking cornertime, also an essential component of aftercare.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once your wife has swallowed your love juice down to the last drop, wait a minute so she can savor the flavor before allowing her to go the the bathroom and brush her teeth. Once she returns, cornertime is next.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you're the mood to admire your handywork, yank your wife's panties down and have her stand facing the corner of the living room holding her skirt up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(My assumption is that you administer discipline in the living room, but a special "punishment room" is OK. However, don't use the bedroom, as your wife should associate that room solely with the pleasures of sleeping and sex. And by no means conduct the disciplinary process in your "man cave," as that room should be reserved entirely for watching sports on TV, smoking cigars and other hardy masculine pursuits with your wife never allowed to enter except to vacuum and dust.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As standing is more onerous than sitting, adjust the amount of cornertime accordingly. But whether she stands or sits in the naughty chair, make sure your wife understands that if you catch her peeking out of the corner just once she'll be soundly spanked again with her time starting over.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As with the blow job, post-spanking cornertime serves two purposes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One is to allow your wife time to somberly reflect on why she's been disciplined. The second is to allow your vigor to return so you can undertake the subsequent hours of carnal pleasure that is your right as a man to expect each night and your wife's duty as a woman to provide.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you're like most Alpha Men younger than 40, you'll only need five minutes or so before your husbandly desires return. But, nevertheless, have your wife serve at least 15 minutes cornertime and preferably up to a half hour if you can stand waiting that long. It's a sacrifice you must make for her sake!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once cornertime is done, send your wife to the bedroom to freshen her makeup, tease her hair and change into a baby doll nightie, the standard sleepwear of the submissive wife. (I have seven of them in separate colors, one for every night of the week.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your wife's eager cry of "Honey" will signal it's time for you to come to bed. Once you've entered the bedroom and stripped down to your birthday suit, you may want to entertain your wife for a minute by flexing your biceps and your six-pack abs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then climb aboard for the most essential, and most enjoyable, component of post-spanking aftercare: three hours of bed-shaking sex!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And for more observations from talented spank fiction writers on the exciting subject of post-spanking aftercare, click on the following link: </span><a href="http://spankingromance.com/spanking-round-table-discussions/"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">spankingromance.com/spanking-round-table-discussions/</span></a></div>
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Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-17399790913465741662014-03-22T14:21:00.001-07:002014-08-20T20:45:16.962-07:00Naughty Wife Caught in Pajamas During the Day. Spanked that Night!<div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue Light", HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><b>This story is now included in my latest anthology "The Best of 1950s Wife Vol. 2," which may be purchased for ready read on your Kindle from Amazon.com for the reasonable price of $2.99 by clicking this link:</b></span></span></span> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Best-1950s-Wife-Vol-ebook/dp/B00MW8IJH4/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1408591971&sr=1-3&keywords=claire+colinsgrove">The Best of 1950s Wife Vol. 2</a><br />
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Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-42796984194894793262014-02-10T17:52:00.001-08:002014-02-10T22:51:10.675-08:00And the Gold Medal for Best Chick's Butt Goes to ...1950s Wife is busy preparing a refrigerator full of fried beef jerkey and a freezer full of beer ice cream for Hubby to snack on during the 2014 Winter Olympics men's ice hockey tournament starting Wednesday. In the meantime, let's hear from Our Man on the Scene in Sochi, Hornee Hanly.<div><br></div><div><b><i>Hornee, the Winter Olympics event that everybody cares about, men's ice hockey, has yet to start. But competition in lesser events is underway. Update us on what's happened in these minor sports, such as ladies figure skating.</i></b></div><div><i><br></i></div><div>Panties! Heh, Heh, Heh. Panties!</div><div><br></div><div><b><i>"Hornee, for shame! Ladies figure skating, though of minor interest compared to men's ice hockey, features some of the best female athletes in the world. Yet, all you care to talk about is competitors' underwear. A more nuanced analysis please.</i></b></div><div><b><i><br></i></b></div><div>The <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">chick from Canada should've gotten the gold medal because she has the best butt and wore a thong.</span></div><div><br></div><div><b><i>Moving on, your impression of the gentlemen's figure skating competition to date.</i></b></div><div><b><i><br></i></b></div><div>Dudes figure skate?</div><div><br></div><div><b><i>Moving on again, Canada and the United States are once again dominating women's ice hockey competition and most certainly will meet in the gold medal game. But which other country do you see having best chance to take bronze?</i></b></div><div><b><i><br></i></b></div><div>Chicks play hockey?</div><div><br></div><div><b><i>Again moving on, are media accommodations in Sochi really as bad as reported?</i></b></div><div><b><i><br></i></b></div><div>Yes, it's awful. We must pay for our beer and only plainly seasoned chicken wings are available, no barbecue style.</div><div>On the bright side, every guest in the media's hotel is provided a free gallon of vodka per day for drinking and bathing to make up for lack of running water. And the motel's outhouse is amply stocked with toilet paper.</div><div><br></div><div><b><i>Once again moving on, media speculation is rife that, should Canada and Russia meet</i></b><b style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><i> in the latter stage of the men's hockey competition, famed Canadian hockey broadcaster Don Cherry and Russian President Vladimir Putin will engage in a ceremonial scrap on the ice prior to puck drop. Any truth to the rumor?</i></b></div><div><b><i>And, as the United States and Russia will definitely play each other in the group stage, are the Americans pussies for not sending an emissary to fight Putin?</i></b></div><div><b><i><br></i></b></div><div>As answer to the first question, I'm unable to confirm the rumour but then again I haven't bothered to ask anybody. As far as the second question is concerned, yes Americans are pussies.</div><div><br></div><div><b><i>Finally Hornee, should Canada and the United States, as in the 2010 Games, meet in the gold medal match in men's ice hockey, who prevails?</i></b></div><div><b><i><br></i></b></div><div>Canada, bro. Canada.</div><div><br></div><div><b><i>I'm a woman Hornee. Please don't refer to me as a "bro".</i></b></div><div><b><i><br></i></b></div><div>Sorry. When it comes to old chicks like you, chicks who are 30 and older, I can't tell the "bros" from the "hoes."</div><div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJU8wWYCrjnMV7oHK4ruvkuMTJJL1Gxp3YEuGSe0ilWibrxRQjxCmVdN96vI7MxYsrjnhLBV16ufKx4DRY4AW06Z1_5D4LUIfJXYYs82rJfIBdUXRLEiO2cr1NiV3Y2dn9gMedKC8wOQ/s640/blogger-image-1279001227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJU8wWYCrjnMV7oHK4ruvkuMTJJL1Gxp3YEuGSe0ilWibrxRQjxCmVdN96vI7MxYsrjnhLBV16ufKx4DRY4AW06Z1_5D4LUIfJXYYs82rJfIBdUXRLEiO2cr1NiV3Y2dn9gMedKC8wOQ/s640/blogger-image-1279001227.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-59008032371068272402014-02-02T00:36:00.001-08:002014-02-02T01:33:11.225-08:00Wife Gets Ball Gag to Keep Her Properly Quiet During Super BowlA Gentleman writes:<div><br></div><div>Our beloved Seattle Seahawks<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> football team plays the Denver Broncos in the Super Bowl today and we residents of </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">the Evergreen State are confident that victory will be ours.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">My wife doesn't watch football except for the Super Bowl, so in Seahawks games this season up till now I've not faced the prospect of my concentration being disturbed by her asking silly questions such as "why do they call it football if their feet rarely touch the ball" and "what inning is it."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">In years past, when my wife watched Super Bowls with me not featuring the Seahawks, I've relied on threats of a spanking and a lengthy time-out in the naughty chair to keep her properly quiet during the Big Game. But, my wife being a loyal Washington stater, I'm concerned that her enthusiasm over the inevitable Seahawks win will encourage her to talk during the game thus taking my attention from the TV screen where it belongs.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Consequently, I've decided my wife will wear a ball gag during the Super Bowl.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> As the goal is precautionary discipline rather than punishment, my wife will wear a moderately-sized ball gag rather than the super-sized, drool-enhancing one I make her wear for gossiping on the phone, interrupting me when I'm trying to tell an important story and other violations of my rules.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The ball gag is colored Seahawks-style green and features a pleasant mint taste. Moreover, she may remove the gag to rest her jaw during half time, as long as she doesn't bother me about not being allowed to watch the silly Super Bowl halftime show, as I intend to use the 30 minutes catching up on highlights of the "lingerie bowl" on another channel.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Nevertheless, when I told my wife the other day of my decision, she complained that she least ought to get the chance to watch the game in silence first and not be gagged unless she messes up.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Of course, I turned her over my knee, lifted her skirt, lowered her panties and spanked her bottom cherry red for questioning my judgment. However, as game time nears and gag time beckons, I'm wondering if perhaps I'm being a bit too strict.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">You've always struck me as being pretty smart for a woman. What your opinion? Give my wife a chance or button her tight beforehand?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Kind Sir:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">You, of course, know your wife's predisposition to "jibber jabber" far better than I. But I'm of the firm opinion that it's better to stray on the side of caution.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">What if during an important play, your wife blurts out some typical female comment while watching sports such as "that player's cute" or "he's got a nice ass." You might turn away from the screen to chastise her just as the game-winning touchdown is made, thus denying yourself a cherished memory of seeing the Seahawks clinch the Super Bowl the moment it happened.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">By allowing your wife to wear a moderately-sized ball gag, particularly a mint-flavored one, rather than a super-sized, drool-maker, you've already shown yourself to be a kind and loving husband.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I would pop that ball gag on her without giving it a second thought. And, if she voices even a whisper of complaint during the break about not being allowed to watch the silly Super Bowl half-time show, spank her bare bottom beet red and put her in the corner in the naughty chair for the second half, ball gag in place.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I won't be watching the Super Bowl, as my husband no longer allows football on TV in our house due to adoption of the face mask and other so-called reforms that make a mockery of the sport. Instead we shall take in the professional wrestling matches at the town auditorium.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But good luck to the Seattle Seahawks and the Denver Broncos. May the best team win!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-8754287262848674912014-01-01T18:48:00.001-08:002014-08-20T20:46:17.133-07:00Presenting the 2014 Spanked Wives Winter Games, a "Winter Spanks" BlogHop Happening<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue Light", HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><b>This story is now included in my latest anthology "The Best of 1950s Wife Vol. 2," which may be purchased for ready read on your Kindle from Amazon.com for the reasonable price of $2.99 by clicking this link:</b></span></span></span> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Best-1950s-Wife-Vol-ebook/dp/B00MW8IJH4/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1408591971&sr=1-3&keywords=claire+colinsgrove">The Best of 1950s Wife Vol. 2</a><br />
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Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com76tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-78708531418450691272013-12-14T01:31:00.001-08:002013-12-19T03:45:58.451-08:00"Jingle Bell Hell," a "Why I Hate Christmas Tale"Dear Readers,<div><br></div><div>1950s Wife is recuperating with a sprained arm in a sling after getting caught in the scrum at a "Holiday Season Super Savings Vacuum Cleaner Sale." To tide you over, her alter ego, Claire Colinsgrove, presents this Christmas tale. It's a bit of a downer, but hey, so was "The Little Matchstick Girl."</div><div><br></div><div>This story is fiction.</div><div><br></div><div>Saturday, December 14, 1974</div><div><br></div><div>Dear Diary,</div><div><br></div><div>I take pen to paper at the conclusion of another day of joyous accomplishment. As I've previously written, it's my honor this holiday season to coordinate our Junior League chapter's annual project to give toys to underprivileged children.</div><div><br></div><div>With all this hullabaloo in the news about inflation, the OPEC oil embargo and high cost of gasoline, I was a bit worried that the poor economy might result in our offering falling short of the standard set in years past. But I must say that, after listening to my pep talk at the toy drive's beginning about our duty of "noblesse oblige" to the common folk, the gals in our chapter came through like troopers.</div><div><br></div><div>Such an abundance of<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> marvelous toys we collected. How it warms my heart to envision an underprivileged boy on Christmas morning, who might otherwise go empty-handed, opening the smartly-wrapped box containing his holiday present from the Junior League to find his very own yo-yo to play with while sister takes delight in her gift of miniature crocheted Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">My station wagon became so crammed full with toys after I stopped at League headquarters yesterday to pick up the gifts that I could barely see out the back. Our chapter's president was there to let me in the office and graciously offered to come by today to help me wrap them.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But I turned her down. No </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">need, I said, when I've got two extra sets of hands to help me, namely those of my 12-year-old daughter Claire and my nine-year-old son Charlie.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Well, Dear Diary, as might be expected, it turned out to be one extra pair of hands, as Claire, typical of her when there's work to be done around the house, was no help at all.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Such</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> a surly, disagreeable child she's turning into, so different from the cheerful obedience that marked my relationship with my mother when I was Claire's age. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The fuss she put up when I told her and Charlie at dinner last night that they'd spend Saturday helping me wrap gifts, you would have thought I was putting her to work picking crops on the plantation.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">She didn't pipe down until I told her she might prefer spending the day in her room writing an essay on how lucky she is having parents who can afford to get her loads of expensive presents each Christmas, and how ungrateful she is compared to underprivileged children across town who must make do with yo-yos as gifts.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Claire presented herself at the breakfast table this morning in an acceptable mood, though she did object when I told her that she and Charlie could only </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">watch one 30-minute cartoon on TV rather than their customary two. As they wouldn't outside playing with their friends today, I made them run laps around the yard the other 30 minutes for exercise.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">After they cleaned up, I presented Claire and Charlie with what I naively expected would be a delightful surprise. Knowing how important fantasy is to children, to make their day as "Santa's helpers" even more fun, I purchased through mail-order elf costumes for them to wear consisting of green sweaters that fell to mid-thigh, red tights, blue felt boots with toes curling up, and knitted red caps with pointy "elf ears" attached to the sides.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Charlie was delighted with the gift and immediately ran upstairs to his bedroom to put his costume on.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Claire, however, absolutely refused to change, shouting at the top her lungs "I'm not gonna wear a stupid outfit like that!" It wasn't till I threatened to tan her backside with the "ouchy stick" that she begrudgingly agreed to don the costume.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">When the children returned downstairs in their elf outfits they looked so darling that I simply had to get a picture made. Our next door neighbor is a photo buff, so I marched Claire and Charlie over to his house to get a picture taken with his fancy camera.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The neighbor told me the kids looked swell in their Christmas costumes. His son is in Claire's grade at school and he happened to come downstairs to the living room just as his father took the picture. Claire's face turned red as Rudolph's nose when the boy walked into the room. Deciding that her pretty blush added a festive look, I asked our neighbor to take another snapshot.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The neighbor said he'd bring me prints as soon as he got the film developed. He added that he did freelance work for the local paper and would like to submit a photo of my two jolly elves. I said that would be fine as long as he told the editor Claire and Charlie were dressed up to help their mother wrap presents for the Junior League's project to give Christmas toys to underprivileged children. Won't that be grand publicity!</font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">As we walked back to our house, Claire complained that I had ruined her life, that the neighbor's son was going to tell everybody at school how stupid she looked in her elf outfit and if the paper ended up running the photo of her and Charlie dressed as elves she would just die.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">In response, I told her she needs to get over worrying what other children think of her. The only people's opinions I cared about when I was growing up were my parents' and my teachers'. That's how I became house captain senior year at boarding school, president of the student disciplinary board with a straight-A average and admitted to a "Seven Sister."</font></div><div><br></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Back at the house, I had Claire and Charlie fetch the boxed-up presents from my station wagon in the garage and bring them into the dining room while I retrieved wrapping paper, scissors, scotch tape and green and red ribbon from the sewing room.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I also retrieved the "ouchy stick," which is a 12-inch ruler affixed to a four-inch grip, from the coat closet. I needed a ruler for Claire to use to measure when cutting wrapping paper and seeing the ouchy stick would remind her to diligently attend to her task and not bellyache.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">We gathered round the dining room table and I instructed the children on the procedure: Claire would cut paper, I'd wrap, and Charlie would use his finger to hold the ribbon down while I affixed it into a smart bow. We fell to work and soon became an efficient team, though I had to threaten a time or two to rap Claire's knuckles with the ouchy stick for cutting off too much paper. "Waste not, Want Not," the Good Book says.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">After two hours, it was time for lunch, so we sat down to a nutrious meal of tomato soup and tuna fish sandwiches. Twenty minutes later we were back at work.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Claire was so placid and compliant during the first two hours of gift wrapping that I almost felt like I had a new child. But I suppose the tomato soup was a bit too spicy because it wasn't more than a few minutes into the afternoon session when "Lil' Miss Hot Head" made her presence known.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">First she complained that she was sick of the Christmas music I was playing and wanted to put a Partridge Family record on. Well, even though I get more than my fill of that insipid show watching it each week with Claire and Charlie to make sure they shut their eyes and cover their ears during inappropriate parts, I graciously allowed her to play the record just to prove that I'm not, as Claire has impertinently called me more than once, "the world's meanest Mom."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">We weren't more than two songs into the record when Claire said her hand was cramping and needed a break. So I allowed her to rest two full songs but almost immediately upon returning to work, she cried out that her wrist still hurt and I needed to put liniment spray on.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">So up we went to my bathroom and I applied a generous amount of liniment spray even though I strongly suspected she suffered from a dose of "malingeritis" rather than a strained wrist.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">We returned to the dining room and she managed to work through the end of side one of the Partridge Family record. But were only one song through Side B when she announced she needed to go to the bathroom.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Upstairs she went while Charlie and I continued to wrap presents. Charlie is such a good boy. He graciously offered to cut paper in Claire's absence but I don't trust a nine-year-old with adult-sized scissors.</font></div><div><br></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Several minutes passed. The Partridge Family record droned on, the noise giving me a headache. Finally, I went over to the turntable and shut off the music. I called upstairs, "Claire, are you OK? Do you need me to come up there?"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"I'll be down in a minute," she shouted back.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Charlie and I returned to wrapping. Five more minutes passed and still no Claire. I walked to the foot of the stairs.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Claire, get down here this instant," I called out in a sharp voice.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"OK. OK," she shouted back. "Gosh, I can't even take a few minutes break to use the bathroom."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Claire returned to the living room. "Can I put a 'Brady Bunch' record on?" she asked.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"No Claire, I need a break from the noise," I told her. "If you want music, play a Christmas record."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"I don't wanna listen to stupid Christmas music," she cried. "I wanna hear the 'Brady Bunch'!"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Claire, you're pushing your luck," I scolded. "Get to work!"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"I don't wanna wrap presents anymore. I've wrapped enough," she cried. "This is so stupid. None of my friends would have to spend their whole Saturday wrapping presents for kids they don't even know!"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Claire without our help, those unfortunate underprivileged children would get no presents at all," I chided. "Think how lucky you are to have parents who can afford to get you so many wonderful gifts at Christmas."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"I don't care!" Claire screamed, her face flushed red. "I'm not lucky. You're the lucky one. Grandma and Grandad are rich and you had a maid growing up to do all the work. You never had to do stupid stuff like this!"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Claire, I've had enough!" I shouted. "Start wrapping now or Santa won't bring you any presents."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"I don't care about presents!" Claire screamed as she ripped her elf's cap off and threw it on the floor. "And I don't believe in Santa. There is no such thing as Santa Clause. Even Charlie knows that."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I looked over at Charlie and my heart nearly broke as I saw his lips quiver and a tear roll down his cheek.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"There is a Santa Clause," he said in a hurt tone. "Right Mom?"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Yes Charlie. There is a Santa Clause," I reassured him.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Turning to Claire I told her, "Upstairs to your room, young lady, and take the ouchy stick with you."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"No Mom, I'm too old for that," Claire said, tears starting to flow.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Save your tears, young miss," I scolded. "You'll have plenty to cry about in just a minute."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Claire ran up the stairs and slammed the door to her room.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I turned to Charlie. "I'm afraid Claire needs a spanking, Charlie," I said. "You're such a good boy. I'm so glad that you always behave and never need an "ouchy." Santa will be bringing you lots of presents.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Now go put a Christmas record on so the noise from me punishing Claire won't disturb you. But be careful and don't scratch it with the needle."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Yes Ma'am," Charlie cheerfully replied.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I walked upstairs to Claire's room. While I'm a firm believer that the ouchy stick should be used sparingly, if outright defiance by refusing to do just a little bit of work to bring Holiday joy to children less fortunate than her, plus ruining Christmas for her little brother by telling him there's no Santa Clause, doesn't call for an "ouchy" than nothing else does.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I opened the door to Claire's room. Seeing the face of a child who just a few years ago ran down the stairs on Christmas morning shouting with delight at the many gifts Santa brought in the night softened my resolve.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I picked up the ouchy stick from where Claire set it on her nightstand.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"Last chance Claire," I told her. "If you apologize and come back downstairs to wrap presents, we won't have to go through with this. We're more than halfway done. It'll just take a few more hours. What do you say?"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Claire stared at me for a second. Then she spoke in a voice I scarcely recognized, the tone so calm and even.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"I'd rather be spanked with that stick than wrap one more stupid present," she said. "Why should I care about kids I don't even know? It's not my fault they're poor."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">My mouth hung open in shock at her defiance.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">"And there is no Santa Clause," Claire continued. "Charlie knows it. He's just playing you for a fool by going 'boo hoo' because he likes to see me get in trouble."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Well that did it. I'm afraid, Dear Diary, while my philosophy is never to punish in anger, I may have lost my temper a bit at my daughter's hateful words.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I grabbed Claire by the shoulder, turned her round and gave her backside six sound swats with the stick, scolding as I spanked "There is too a Santa, you little brat. He brings presents on Christmas Eve to good children like Charlie and leaves lumps of coal in the stockings of bad girls like you!"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Even though I spanked Claire longer and harder than I intended to, it didn't appear to hurt that much, as she didn't cry nor do the after-spanking "ouchy dance" like she sometimes does. I suppose the thickness of her elf sweater and tights spared her.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">So, to make an additional impression, I told Claire she could stay in her room until she wrote a letter to read to me aloud apologizing to Santa for being bad and asking him to give her a second chance for presents by being extra good from now on.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Claire didn't write the essay, however, as her father, upon returning home from playing golf, told me she'd been punished enough. He went into Claire's room and told her she could come out. I also overheard him reassuring her that she was getting Christmas presents and that she should try to remember how much pressure her mother puts on herself when it comes to Christmas projects.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">He also told Claire that she was too old for spanking and he was going to tell me so and to toss out the ouchy stick.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">A few minutes later Claired headed out the door in a change of clothes to visit a friend, calling out "I'm eating supper at Sharon's. I'll be back at nine o'clock. Bye Dad. I love you."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">After Claire left, my husband informed me that a "no spanking" policy was now in effect and to put the ouchy stick in the trash. He added that it was too much to expect children to work all Saturday wrapping presents when they wanted to be playing with their friends and I was putting too much pressure on the family by going overboard with Christmas projects.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Too much pressure! Doesn't he realize the strain I'm under? </font><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The entire Junior League is counting on me.</span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Enough writing for tonight, Dear Diary. Church in the morning. And no matter how much Claire complains, she's getting up early for Sunday school before services. I've been far too lenient about that.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">And once we get home from lunch at the country club, I'm getting out the guidebook to private schools I ordered. I'm having second thoughts about no boarding school for Claire even though my husband says we can't afford it. He can always get a second job at night to help pay tuition.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Goodness knows Claire's surly attitude would make her a poor candidate for my alma mater where school spirit is placed at such a premium, but perhaps we can find a less-expensive second-tier school that would be a good fit.</font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I wonder if those military schools that advertise in the back of the "New Yorker" accept girls?</span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6097060221102684156.post-51123764390558307582013-12-06T17:04:00.001-08:002013-12-06T22:27:47.405-08:00No Football Championship for Crimson Tide Earns Alabama Wife a "Crimson
Hide"Dear 1950s Wife,<div><br><div>As an Alabama gal, I'm no stranger to being spanked. Daddy turned me over his knee and tanned my tailfeathers when I was naughty up through my college years and passed the job of maintaining discipline to my husband after I got married.</div><div><br></div><div>As a proper Southern wife, I graciously submit to my husband's stewardship of our happy home and let him make decisions regarding finances, weekend activities, sex and the like<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">. I content myself with keeping the house clean, clothes laundered and supper on the table, knowing full well that if I fail in the slightest in my household duties or ever come across as other than cheerfully obedient, Hubby will put me over his lap, lift my skirt, lower my panties and spank my bottom as red as the britches of our University of Alabama Crimsonettes majorettes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">So, after reading on your blog that your husband spanks you OTK during Chicago Blackhawks hockey games to celebrate home team's goals and wins, and swats you with the "naughty girl paddle" to express his frustration with visitor wins, Hubby decided to adopt the practice this season when we watch on TV the only sport that matters to us Southern folk: college football, specifically the University of Alabama Crimson Tide.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Here's our game routine: Just prior to kickoff, I change out of my cooking clothes of stockings, heels, pearls and a smart dress into my cheerleader outfit of a tight-fitting white halter top with a maroon "A" across the chest, maroon short shorts and white go-go boots. I fetch a big platter of pulled-pork barbecue sandwiches and a tub of cole slaw I made for Hubby to snack on, pop the top of his beer and position myself over his lap as he reclines on the couch.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">There I stay, his firm hand resting atop my perky posterior ready to beat my bottom like a bongo drum whenever Alabama scores. </font><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Except when Hubby shouts "Beer. Wife, Fetch!" Then I roll off his knee and scamper into the kitchen as fast as my shapely legs will take me to bring him a malt beverage.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I'm also allowed to get up during halftime. As Alabama's "Million Dollar Band," accompanied by the Crimsonettes majorettes, perform on TV, I put on my own show for Hubby as I pop my top and jump up and down singing our fight song "Ramma Jamma, Yellowhamma, give 'em hell, Alabama."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">After the inevitable Alabama win, I slide off Hubby's lap onto my knees, unzip his fly and give him a celebratory blow job. Hubby typically stays hard throughout the post-game interviews with players and coach, ejaculating into my mouth moaning "Roll Tide" just as the broadcast ends.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I put away Hubby's left-over barbecue in the fridge and toss his empty beer cans into recycling. Then I go upstairs to brush my teeth and change into sexy lingerie. I climb into bed with a romance novel to pass the time, as Hubby usually spends an hour post-game on the computer reading several sports blogs and posting opinions as to whether the margin of victory was sufficiently wide enough to uphold Alabama's honor and, if not, which players should be demoted to second-string and which assistant coaches fired as a result.</font></div><div><br></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Once done, Hubby joins me in the bedroom for our customary Saturday night session of hours-long bed-shaking sex. (Though he could go longer, I ask him to stop at midnight, so I can get a good night's sleep prior to being up at 5:00 am to prepare a hearty breakfast of biscuits, grits, eggs, hamhocks and gravy for Hubby then attend to my beauty preparations for church.)</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Naturally, Alabama won its first 11 games this season so I wasn't too worried when I put myself over my husband's lap to watch the regular season finale last Saturday against our arch-rival Auburn. Though Hubby's certainly enthusiastic when he spanks me with his hand to celebrate Alabama's big plays and scores, hand spanks don't hurt that much for a well-spanked wife such as me, particularly when I'm wearing my cheerleader-style booty shorts.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But after Auburn came back to tie the game 28-28 with just a few minutes left I started to get worried. You see, my husband decided it would be such a calamity should Alabama ever lose that he would have no choice but to express his dismay by paddling me with the "Master Blaster Bottom Blisterer."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">That's the nickname Hubby gave this super-sized paddle that he only uses to punish me for extreme misbehavior like the time I didn't put enough lard in the collared greens I made when his parents came by supper and his mama said they tasted "stringy."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">We bought the "Master Blaster Bottom Blisterer" at an estate sale after the high school principal passed away. It's got a two-handed grip with the spanking part being 16 inches long and four inches wide. "OUCH" is written in big block letters on the face of the paddle and the rest of it is filled with signatures from students who got whipped with it over the years including "Jimmy Joe," "Johnny Joe" and "Janey Jo."</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">The few times I've been spanked with it sure did leave me feeling sorry for those "Joe" kids because that paddle stings like the dickens. But I relaxed after Alabama moved the ball down the field.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">With one second left, the Tide kicker came on the field for what I was sure was the winning field goal. I could tell Hubby was confident too because I felt his boner poking me in the stomach. As soon as the referee put his hands up signaling good, I'd slide off Hubby's lap, unzip his fly and give him the sort of blow job that an undefeated regular season record and entry in the college football national championship game for the third year in a row deserved.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Well I suppose you don't have to be a football fan to know what happened next. Such cries of agony my husband made. I don't think I ever yelled in pain that much even when Daddy whipped my hind parts with a peach tree switch when he caught me sneaking a cigarette as a teenager.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">What made it worse is our next-door neighbors are Auburn fans. They went out on their driveway shooting off fireworks and making fun of our "Rammer Jammer" cheer by singing "Ramma Jamma, Alabama, we just beat the hell out of you!"</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">After my husband finished crying, he went into bathroom to wash his face. When he came out, he said he felt bad about doing it, but he knew I wouldn't respect him as a husband and a man if he didn't live up to his promise to properly paddle my posterior for an Alabama loss. (He's right.) So he led me by the hand out to our sound-proofed woodshed where we store the Master Blaster Bottom Blisterer.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I sure am glad we decided to soundproof the shed because I'd hate those obnoxious Auburn fans next door to hear me holler as Hubby heated my hiney. He gave me 34 swats, one for every Auburn point, as he scolded "Missed field goals. Dropped passes. Sloppy tackling. Missed blocks," etc...</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I spent the rest of the night icing my bottom in the kitchen sink. Hubby said he'd make do with cereal in the morning so I could sleep in till 7:00 am. What a kind, thoughtful, caring man I have!</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I could have done with a pillow sitting in the church pew for Sunday services, but other than that I wasn't too worse for wear.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">We attend a mixed congregation and our pastor was very solicitatious of each side's feelings. He reminded we Alabama fans that in times of crisis we must turn to The Lord for comfort while encouraging both sides to love our neighbor as we would ourselves. To that end, Pastor preached, we would best further the cause of social justice by sending e-mails to sports editors of major newspapers arguing the fairest result would be to place one-loss Auburn, should it beat Missouri in the SEC championship game, and one-loss Alabama in a "do-over" for the national championship game come January, despite other teams finishing with undefeated regular-season records.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">My husband doesn't allow me to use the computer except to read your blog, as he wisely realizes I'd waste time "Facebooking," "Twittering" and "You Tube-ing" when I should be cleaning house, cooking his meals and washing his clothes. So I wasn't able to send out e-mails to sports writers urging a "do-over" and I quickly put Saturday's disappointing loss and college football from my mind.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">So imagine my surprise when my husband came home the other day with an Auburn football jersey on. He said one of the guys at work gave it to him as a joke, but, after pondering Pastor's sermon</font><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">, he decided it was incumbent to show loyalty to his state and root for Auburn against Missouri.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">My husband reminded me it's my wifely duty to support him by donning a slutty cheerleader outfit in Auburn colors and going over his lap for the big game against Missouri. I'm to be soundly spanked with Hubby's hand for every Auburn point. And, should the unthinkable happen and our beloved Auburn Tigers, aka War Eagles, aka Plainsmen, lose the game, I can expect a repeat session with Master Blaster Bottom Blisterer.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">As a proper submissive wife, I know it's my duty to obey my husband without question. Still, I can't help but wrinkle up my nose as the thought of being spanked for Auburn's sake. Should I try to talk my husband out of it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Good woman,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">As a confirmed northerner, I can't help but be bemused by you southerners and your folksy ways, including your infatuation with something as silly as college football.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Still I must encourage you to graciously submit to your husband's will. For it is not up to us wives to question the decisions of our "superior officers." God intended man to rule over woman. That's why He gave us soft behinds and men strong arms and firm hands.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Besides you may luck out and Auburn win the game, thus sparing you a date with Master Blaster Bottom Blisterer.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div></div>Claire Colinsgrove, aka 1950s Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08191322458122020702noreply@blogger.com2