Just a random swatting palm -- with a disturbingly long life line.
Do you remember the last spanking? Chances are you weren't as old as I was -- unless you count birthday spankings your friends give. Or that really weird weekend in Vegas you didn't tell your boyfriend about. Just kidding (or am I? Hmm ...)
As I'll tell y'all in my Tuesday column, my last spanking was at age 13. Based on the totally non-scientific poll, that's semi-typical for males. The females I polled said they were 7 or 8 for their last childhood spanking; males ranged between 10 and 13.
Anyway, I didn't get too many spankings growing up; and the few I do remember, I know full well why I deserved them -- and the same goes for the eighth-grade swat I got.
It was a Saturday night, and I was sitting barefoot in the kitchen wearing khaki shorts and a white T-shirt. Dad walks in and sees me holding a yellow plastic cup, my eyes kinda wide. He stops in his tracks and asks, "What are you drinking?"
"Uh ... Milk," I replied. Which was a lie -- one he apparently sensed, having known me for the previous 13 years. He takes the cup, looks in and sees that it isn't milk. It's about 1 1/2 cups of granulated sugar. Just sugar. And I was throwing it back like some industrial-sized Pixy Stix.
So Dad led me back to his and Mom's room and commenced to spanking -- not very long. Beforehand, as he often did, he asked me if I knew why he was doing it. "Yes," I'd reply.
Now, it ain't like I haven't lied since then; but I often think of that last spanking, which lent itself well toward not lying. Or at least hiding my cups of sugar from people.
Speaking of sugar intake, tomorrow starts my umpteenth attempt at living a healthy lifestyle. I used several life experiences as excuses to getting me off track with exercise, but enough already -- bring on the Route 66 Marathon training! And some padlocks for my fridge! Ooooh, and some for the vending machine, too.
Peace, love and sugar ... XOXO
