Sunday, April 08, 2007
Easter, Spanko Style
Things have finally quieted down here at the Spakowiak homestead. The guests have gone, Angela’s parents have retired to the guest house, Maribel and her beau are on their way back to university, and Angela and Colette are watching a movie in the living room. I have whittled a twenty-foot pile of dirty dishes down to a more manageable height, and most of those will likely go into the dishwasher, once the current load has been cleaned and put away. The ones that will not fit shall be placed in the garbage, as I simply cannot look at another dirty dish.
Goodness me, I’m beginning to sound like my mother.
In fact, my mother was in attendance. Her favorite thing to say to me, and she repeated it about 37 times, was, “Now you know what I went through when we’d have people over.” She was, or course, referring to holidays during my childhood. She was also, of course, lying. I cannot remember having fifteen people for a sit-down meal, and I frequently remember my father and his mother graciously insisting on doing the cleaning up. My maternal grandmother was not always so gracious, and she frequently repeated the line, “Now you know what I went through when we’d have people over.” This was apparently a sort of family tradition.
The day started poorly enough. We awoke to two inches of snow on the ground. Those of you who call the Midwestern USA your home likely experienced the same. As I recall, Christmas saw temperatures around 50 degrees. I guess, then, it was appropriate that we have a white Easter. Angela’s mother insisted that we attend Easter services. I must confess, we are a godless family. I was raised a Roman Catholic, and most Catholic children follow one of two paths: either they become devout in their adulthood, or they become entirely cynical towards the entire religious establishment. I’ve chosen the latter path. Angela, too, was dragged to church every Sunday morning. Her parents are not followers of Catholicism, but rather belong to one of the Protestant denominations. She became disgruntled with religion when, during her college days, someone preaching outside of her school’s library said to Bernie, whom I have always known as a fine person, a good friend, and a homosexual, “God hates you!”
In reality, which, for an imaginary spanko is indeed extraordinary, Bernie and Angela were roommates for most of their college years. Bernie, who was a basketball player of considerable talent, was meeting Angela after a game in which she had performed especially well. Angela gave Bernie a congratulatory, friendly hug, which caused the so-called preacher to issue his ill-mannered remark. Legend has it that Angela chased the poor fellow completely off campus and had to be restrained by school security lest she claw off a particularly sensitive portion of the fellow’s anatomy. Sadly, I have never been able to get this story confirmed.
Now that I have likely offended many of the faithful, I shall resume my tale.
Angela relented to her parents request, and had the girls put on nice dresses, something which our girls are not especially fond of doing. I steadfastly refused to attend, as I had a great deal to do as far as cleaning up after breakfast and preparing dinner. This, naturally, irritated Angela’s mom, so that she referred to me as “the heathen” for the rest of the day.
Fortunately for me, Maribel’s boyfriend had escaped grandma’s notice, so he avoided services, and was kind enough to assist me in my kitchen duties, for which I shall be forever grateful. Upon returning from church, when Angela’s mom discovered the young gentleman was here, and that he had further spent the night at our house (he slept on a sofa in my office since the third floor rooms of the barn still do not have proper heat), she proceeded to harangue him for not being a gentleman, and lecture me on the proper way to raise our daughter. Fortunately, she does not know that Maribel and her beau know each other biblically, or she’d have condemned us all to a fiery afterlife. Maribel was also not happy that her man had not attended the religious service with them, and she all but ignored him until I accepted responsibility for keeping him here to be my servant. The boy picks things up quickly, and complained that, with all of the work that I had him do, he would have rather gone to church with Maribel. This was, of course, a complete lie, since he had repeatedly mentioned how relieved he was that he did not have to go. To preserve some semblance of family peace, and as a way of showing my appreciation to the boy, I backed his story up one hundred percent.
Fortunately, the meal was excellent. I prepared a glazed ham (one that I had bought that was at the grocery store), au gratin potatoes, glazed carrots, fresh green beans (no mushroom soup casserole for me, thank you very much), homemade bread, and fresh brownies for dessert. Everything was yummy, and the entire crew ate so much they were too tired to harass me further after the meal.
I must thank you for your patience in persevering through my kvetching, as there is a point here that bares some relationship to the spanking nature of this particular blog. After the feast, Angela served tea in the living room. After making sure that everyone who cared for one had a cup, she returned to the kitchen to replenish the pot. While waiting for the kettle to boil, she gave me a hug and a kiss for making such an excellent supper. Then she heaved a great sigh, looked out at the crowd in the living room, and said to me, “I can’t wait for everyone to leave. I could really use a spanking.”
It was good to know that my darling wife and I are of the same mind. Soon, Colette will retire for the night, and Angela and I will make for our bedroom. Once there, I do believe that we will both get naked, select a suitably quiet instrument, say perhaps a wooden rod, and take turns reddening the other’s ass. It is such a pleasant thought, it has almost relieved the stress of the day. We will complete the stress-relief process along with the spankings. It will be a fantastic ending to the holiday.
Goodness me, I’m beginning to sound like my mother.
In fact, my mother was in attendance. Her favorite thing to say to me, and she repeated it about 37 times, was, “Now you know what I went through when we’d have people over.” She was, or course, referring to holidays during my childhood. She was also, of course, lying. I cannot remember having fifteen people for a sit-down meal, and I frequently remember my father and his mother graciously insisting on doing the cleaning up. My maternal grandmother was not always so gracious, and she frequently repeated the line, “Now you know what I went through when we’d have people over.” This was apparently a sort of family tradition.
The day started poorly enough. We awoke to two inches of snow on the ground. Those of you who call the Midwestern USA your home likely experienced the same. As I recall, Christmas saw temperatures around 50 degrees. I guess, then, it was appropriate that we have a white Easter. Angela’s mother insisted that we attend Easter services. I must confess, we are a godless family. I was raised a Roman Catholic, and most Catholic children follow one of two paths: either they become devout in their adulthood, or they become entirely cynical towards the entire religious establishment. I’ve chosen the latter path. Angela, too, was dragged to church every Sunday morning. Her parents are not followers of Catholicism, but rather belong to one of the Protestant denominations. She became disgruntled with religion when, during her college days, someone preaching outside of her school’s library said to Bernie, whom I have always known as a fine person, a good friend, and a homosexual, “God hates you!”
In reality, which, for an imaginary spanko is indeed extraordinary, Bernie and Angela were roommates for most of their college years. Bernie, who was a basketball player of considerable talent, was meeting Angela after a game in which she had performed especially well. Angela gave Bernie a congratulatory, friendly hug, which caused the so-called preacher to issue his ill-mannered remark. Legend has it that Angela chased the poor fellow completely off campus and had to be restrained by school security lest she claw off a particularly sensitive portion of the fellow’s anatomy. Sadly, I have never been able to get this story confirmed.
Now that I have likely offended many of the faithful, I shall resume my tale.
Angela relented to her parents request, and had the girls put on nice dresses, something which our girls are not especially fond of doing. I steadfastly refused to attend, as I had a great deal to do as far as cleaning up after breakfast and preparing dinner. This, naturally, irritated Angela’s mom, so that she referred to me as “the heathen” for the rest of the day.
Fortunately for me, Maribel’s boyfriend had escaped grandma’s notice, so he avoided services, and was kind enough to assist me in my kitchen duties, for which I shall be forever grateful. Upon returning from church, when Angela’s mom discovered the young gentleman was here, and that he had further spent the night at our house (he slept on a sofa in my office since the third floor rooms of the barn still do not have proper heat), she proceeded to harangue him for not being a gentleman, and lecture me on the proper way to raise our daughter. Fortunately, she does not know that Maribel and her beau know each other biblically, or she’d have condemned us all to a fiery afterlife. Maribel was also not happy that her man had not attended the religious service with them, and she all but ignored him until I accepted responsibility for keeping him here to be my servant. The boy picks things up quickly, and complained that, with all of the work that I had him do, he would have rather gone to church with Maribel. This was, of course, a complete lie, since he had repeatedly mentioned how relieved he was that he did not have to go. To preserve some semblance of family peace, and as a way of showing my appreciation to the boy, I backed his story up one hundred percent.
Fortunately, the meal was excellent. I prepared a glazed ham (one that I had bought that was at the grocery store), au gratin potatoes, glazed carrots, fresh green beans (no mushroom soup casserole for me, thank you very much), homemade bread, and fresh brownies for dessert. Everything was yummy, and the entire crew ate so much they were too tired to harass me further after the meal.
I must thank you for your patience in persevering through my kvetching, as there is a point here that bares some relationship to the spanking nature of this particular blog. After the feast, Angela served tea in the living room. After making sure that everyone who cared for one had a cup, she returned to the kitchen to replenish the pot. While waiting for the kettle to boil, she gave me a hug and a kiss for making such an excellent supper. Then she heaved a great sigh, looked out at the crowd in the living room, and said to me, “I can’t wait for everyone to leave. I could really use a spanking.”
It was good to know that my darling wife and I are of the same mind. Soon, Colette will retire for the night, and Angela and I will make for our bedroom. Once there, I do believe that we will both get naked, select a suitably quiet instrument, say perhaps a wooden rod, and take turns reddening the other’s ass. It is such a pleasant thought, it has almost relieved the stress of the day. We will complete the stress-relief process along with the spankings. It will be a fantastic ending to the holiday.
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If only the "God hates you" people didn't roam my campus. ::sigh:: I tend to have the same reactions as your lovely wife, which makes life extremely intersting considering that I go to a very conservative public school in the south.
I hope to hear more of your Easter spanking soon!
Lee
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I hope to hear more of your Easter spanking soon!
Lee
# posted by 
: April 14, 2007 3:28 PM
: April 14, 2007 3:28 PM << Home
