Mary and Daphne #34 (Patreon)

“Daphne Ann!” She said it with that tone you use when you can’t believe someone is still arguing with you and it’s so exasperating it’s almost funny. Almost, but not. “What part do we use to listen?”

Ever wish you could go back in time and say to your parents or a teacher or some authority figure from way back when what you’d have said to them if you were a lot more clever and way more brave back then?

I, for instance, wish I could’ve said to my first grade teacher and all around snippy bitch what I was about to say to my darling wife: “I could ask you the same question!”

Of course, the irony is had I said that to Mrs. Schafer, I probably would’ve gotten in a lot of trouble, but I wouldn’t have gotten spanked for it. In fact, had I said it, I’m sure she would’ve realized I was sarcasming at a seventh grade level and my life would’ve been different ever since. I’d probably own my own sportswear conglomerate called LalaLime and I’d be suing the crap out of that store that sells $70 pajamas because I was there first and no one is gonna undersell Daphne! But back to the present day, when Mary didn’t seem as amused with my backchat as the my teacher in my imaginary past.

“Corner,” she said to me, pointing with just one finger and her arms still crossed.

“Bu...”

“Cor-ner.”

“O-kay,” I said because I can enunciate with the best of them. “Geez ... ow!” Well, I knew I had that one coming.

I walked past the hallway on the way to the corner, and at the very end of it was the window I’d broken. It was an accident, as I going to explain had I gotten the chance. You see, while technically I was responsible for the broken window it was really an act of god. Not strictly speaking, but in a figurative-the-universe-brought-these-items-together-and-along-came-I way. Also, maybe a smidge Nana’s fault for getting me interested in gardening, but I wasn’t looking to assign blame. Unlike some people. Of course it was an accident, but as Mary has since reminded me, I wasn’t in trouble for the window. But as she also pointed out, it (probably) wouldn’t be broken if I’d listen to her.

“What are you up to,” I was asked while I was working in our yard to beautify our home just a half hour earlier.

“Making a new flower bed,” I said all proud of myself and glistening like an angel digging a hole in the summer sun.

“For what?”

“More plants.”

“How much,” she asked with the earliest signs of being a little fed up with my spending on plants for the last six weeks.

“I dunno. $150?”

“I think you mean another $150, and you should’ve asked first,” she reminded me. And yeah, we do have that rule that neither of us spends more than $100 on any non-necessity without asking the other, but I’m bored! That makes stuff to end the boredom necessary, logic any thirteen-year-old would understand, so why doesn’t Mary get it?

“Sorry, but it’ll look so nice when it’s done.”

“Those are the last plants you’re buying until the fall. Seriously, we’re out of plant money.”

“Okay,” I said sweetly. I was good with that. I had plants aplenty for the moment.

“You okay,” she asked. “You look overheated.”

“Yeah. I got my Gatorade. There’s just a big rock here. But it’s soft, see?” I hit it with the shovel and chipped off a piece easily. “I’ll get it out.”

Mary’s I’m-considering-something face. “How about putting the bed over there? I think it’ll look better.” She pointed to a spot five feet to my right.

“Ehhh, I dunno. I think it will be better here,” I replied to her majesty. Let her dig her own flower bed.

“But it’s awfully close to the house, and if you just move a few feet over you probably won’t have to be whacking away at that rock, which you should be wearing safety glasses for.”

I didn’t actually say ‘okay.’ I just grinned and sorta bobbed my head. Former colleagues could attest that’s my I’m-being-polite-while-ignoring-you gesture, which I used on many an occasion, but Mary must’ve took it to mean yes because she smiled. This isn’t deceptive on my part so much as polite misdirection, like magic. Magicians aren’t dishonest; they’re just, well, something that makes their trickery okay.

“Good. Hang on a sec.” I sat down next to my hole that would soon be part of a bed of new plants growing under the fine care of me and nursed my Gatorade. It was disgustingly humid on its way to being a very hot day. I was trying to finish early. Mary came back in a moment.

“Here,” she said, handing me my hat and a pair of giant sunglasses. She takes such good care of me. “And please be careful.” Haha, she can’t see me roll my eyes behind these glasses. Or can, apparently. “I’m serious. Please be careful. I don’t want you chopping your foot off.”

“I’ll be careful. What are you up to inside,” I asked.

“Cleaning out the fridge. When you’re done let’s make lunch together.”

“Deal. I don’t think I’ll be that long. It’s getting too hot.”

I bent to my task like the good little worker I am. By the time I was done, I’d be done, and Mary would be so in agreement with me about where the flower bed should be, and besides, I was the one doing the work. She was welcome to find a shovel and join me, but so long as I was doing the work, I’d do it the way I liked. Plus, she’s a laptop jockey; I was a laptop jockey until a half a year ago, but at that point, I’d been an amateur gardener for three whole months, so my aesthetic judgement was obviously superior to hers anyway. No doubt I’d soon be on the cover of Gardens Galore Magazine. And by the time I was done putting the flower bed where I wanted it, I’d be done, and she’d be in no position to say I told you not to because she would just quake in amazement at me, and besides, it would be too late anyway.

So you’re wondering, how did Daphne break a window while gardening? Did she slip and throw a tool through the window? And that just shows you’re not listening! Reading comprehension, you so-called adults! I already said it was an act of god. A rock was thrown. And now you’re thinking, don’t you mean me, Daphne, that you threw a rock? But I was merely the universe’s instrument! Which I frequently am; it’s a burden (and no thanks necessary, but y’all are welcome).

The rock I was trying to get around broke, so I got down on my knees and tried to get the pieces, but this one piece was wedged, and I got both hands on it and was giving it my all and I got it! And I fell back and flung the thing through the window. As I said, an act of god. I didn’t put the rock there.

The broken glass shattering scared me, but that was just momentary because I was overcome by that unpleasant feeling you get when you can’t undo something bad that just happened. Funny how that works, the way the world changes in an instant and you can’t change it back.

Now, contrary to popular belief, I’m not a little girl, so I looked on this as an unfortunate mishap and an example of the downside of being a homeowner. I was more mad at myself (for having allowed myself to be the universe’s unwitting instrument, of course) than afraid of being in trouble. Accidents happen.

Mary was rushing to my side before I was even done brushing the dirt off myself. “Are you okay,” she said, sounding so endearingly concerned.

“I’m fine,” I said as she checked me over from head to foot for any hard-to-see wounds. “Are you,” I asked.

“Scared the crap outta me but fine. What happened?”

“I slipped. I’m sorry.”

“The important thing is you’re okay.”

“And you.” I looked around Mary at the window. “Really sorry. Guess I’ll get online and find a window guy.”

“Guess so,” Mary said, rubbing my shoulder as we started to walk back inside. “How did you do that anyway?”

“I broke a piece off that rock and was trying to get it out and succeeded like a boss.” And that’s when Mary stopped walking, and I saw this little lightbulb go off over her head. Hard to see in the sunshine, but there it was.

“The rock in the hole I told you to stop digging?” Well, sure, that’s a relevant thing if you decide it’s a thing of relevance, but I’m more of a big-picture-at-least-we-have-our-health kinda person. What’s a broken window compared to our health? If only I was better at redirecting people’s attention; since I can’t buy any more plants, maybe I can start learning magic.

“O,” I said because pretending to be clueless has gotten me out of zero trouble but why not try again. “I thought that was more of a suggestion.”

“You said ‘okay.’”

“Technically I didn’t, is the thing.”

“You looked right at me and nodded, so was that you just saying yes to get me to go away?”

It helps me to think sometimes if I chew on my lip, apparently. “See, when you say it like that, it sounds worse because it wasn’t so much to get you to go away as to move on to other topics, plus I was sure that once I was done … well, anyway …” I can tell when I’ve lost my audience. Time to stop digging the hole deeper, which is ironic as all get out under the circumstances. “Sorry.”

“Uh huh. When’s the last time I spanked you?”

“Um …” There are so many, who even keeps track? And what even counts as a spanking? Her hand makes a high-speed connection with my butt in one way or another almost every time I walk past her.

“Thursday – too long ago. We’re gonna fix that right now,” she said with her determined face on.

“Well if you knew the answer OW!” We’re not British, dammit! With the stupid leg smacking like she’s the queen of her majesty’s yard.

“Let’s finish this discussion in the living room, little girl.”

“O, shall we have a spot of tea while we’re at it then,” I may have said – with a perfectKensington accent! – as I started walking inside inside.

“What are you even …” she stopped herself and I guess decided it was her turn to mutter. “…Urgh! Like living with a crazy person sometimes.”

Well, that’s fair. And the living room isn’t far away, so I didn’t have to wait more than fifteen seconds for the resumption of my talking to.

“When was Thursday,” my wife who is pretty good at sarcasm too and especially so when launching into a Socratic lecture.

“Between Wednesday and Friday.”

“How ‘bout ‘clearly too long ago given how much sass is coming outta your mouth? Now, let’s count the issues we’re having today. One: the back talk. Two: not telling me before you spent more than $100, again; that’s right – I’ve noticed. Three: you deliberately disobeyed me just now. And four: you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie!”

“You looked right at me and nodded when I said to put the bed further away from the house. I swear, it’s like I told my disobedient ten-year-old not to play ball in the yard, and sure enough, you broke the window.”

“That was an accident.”

“I know that, which is why you’re going to get your bottom spanked for everything right up until you broke the window and all the answering back since. You’re lucky I don’t give you four separate spankings.”

“O, because that would just be sooo unprecedented…” Uncalled for, maybe a little?

“Daphne Ann …”

Which brings us back to where this little episode started, and now you’re all caught up. I really do get tired of corner time. It just sucks. I stood there waiting for Mary to come back thinking about repainting the room since our plant budget had run dry, and maybe a new color to stare at in the corner would be nice. That line of thought got me through about five minutes of corner time.

Ya know what I oddly like a little more than corner time? Time out on the stairs. Don’t know why. Ya know what I like less? Naughty chair time outs. Feels more on display to just be seated facing a wall. At least with a corner you have two walls sorta blocking everyone’s view of you; not really, but it feels like it. Of course, there’s no one viewing me most of the time regardless, but still. And that line of thought got me through about two more minutes of corner time.

I am not a crazy person, just because Mary doesn’t know where all my non sequiturs come from. I’m just quick witted in a way that would make Patton Oswalt go ‘she’s kinda random.’ And I’m just a little sassy if we redefine ‘a lot’ to mean ‘a little.’ Languages are living things, and I’m a creator, so I’m going with that definition. It’s not like I said anything mean. Maybe a little disrespectful … going with my definition of “a little” again. Which isn’t really fair to Mary. She didn’t do anything wrong. All she did was ask me to put my flower bed a few feet over and away from the house. Not that it would’ve necessarily saved the window, but I did deliberately give her the impression that I would do ask she asked without actually intending to do as she asked. Which is “a little” shitty. Especially since that was on top of the spending thing … which she’s been cutting me slack on … on top of which she’s supporting both of us now. And that line of thought got me through the next seven minutes.

Here’s a weird thing about time out – it’s not like you learn your lesson and then get to go free. You’d think that in a perfect system, that’s how it would work. ‘I’ve come to see things your way.’ ‘Good, you can come out of the corner.’ Nope. You just have to wait, like another ten minutes.

“Are you ready to listen yet,” Mary asked me when she came back in the room.

“Yes.”

“Front and center, little girl.”

I chose not to say it that time. Instead, I said, “I’m sorry for being smart with you, and spending the money without talking about it first, and disobeying you, and fibbing.”

“Lying.”

“Lying. Sorry.”

“What gives, Daphne?”

Okay, here’s something weird I didn’t notice right away. “Is that wine?” She brought a glass of wine to my spanking. Who does that?

“I told you – I was cleaning out the fridge. There was just a half glass left. Back to the matter at hand.”

“This is so Real Housewivesright now,” I said pretty much to myself. Something weird and sitcommy about a woman tipping back a glass of wine just before administering a spanking.

Mary snapped her fingers and put the glass down. “Focus, kiddo. Why are you having such a naughty day?”

“No real reason … Just am.” Which was the truth.

“Well,” Mary said, “I guess we all have days like that, and I suppose it’s my fault for letting you get away with too many things. We’ve been here lots of times. What usually happens if I let things slide too long?”

“I get in a lot of trouble all at once.”

“You get in a lot of trouble all at once. Maybe we need to put the no-strikes rule into effect for a little while.”

“O, please no.” I hate the no-strikes rule! There are no – none, zero, nada, zilch – strikes! Every little thing gets a serious consequence. Last time, I got paddled for rolling my eyes, and it wasn’t even a full rotation! And color me so pathetic for actually saying, “I’ll be good! I promise!”

“Sorry, but not sorry, little girl. Zero strikes until the day after tomorrow. From there, we’ll see.”

“Marryyyy!”

“Enough, Daphne Ann! Enough with the whining and the backtalk. Any more of that, and you’ll be getting your mouth washed out, too. Is that what you want?”

O, well, geez, now that ya ask, could ya please? I mean, what am I supposed to say to that? Except, o, just maybe, something not sarcastic like, “No.”

“No what?”

But she gets to be sarcastic?!? Not fair! “No, I don’t want my mouth washed out.”

“And I’ll tell you something else …” Of course you will; she’s having o so much fun. “… if you can’t right that little ship of yours, we’ll have to go back so some of the just-in-case consequences.”

“Won’t be necessary. Promise.” Those are so called just-in-case consequences because I hate them so much Mary agreed they’re for just in case regular punishments lose some of their effectiveness. The mere mention of them is inspiration for me to be so good, she’ll be sick of me being so good.

“I’m glad to hear that.” See, with the sarcasm that isn’t even funny; mine is at least funny. “So here’s what’s going to happen: first, you’re going over my knee for a serious spanking. Then, you’re going to call around and get us a good deal on that window. And then, you’re going to cancel whatever plants you ordered to help pay for that window. Understood?”

Natural consequences are The Worst. “Yes.”

“Good.” And then she disappeared from my field of vision as she bent down to get my – “Lift.” – shoes. Followed by my shorts and panties. “Step out.” I got to keep my socks on, so I wasn’t totally naked below the waist. Small victories, amiright? Please? “Come to this side.”

Aw, crap and a half!I hate hate hate it when she puts me over her knee on the coffee table. It’s so uncomfortable, and I hate just dangling there like a little kid whose hands and feet don’t even reach the floor, which is exactly why she does it. I couldn’t even complain lest she change her mind about the soap. I may have earned a spanking four times over, but the soap should be reserved for blasphemy and saying mean things to orphans and puppies.

“Over you go,” she said as she helped me over her knee. It’s a fulcrum in that position. I’m just draped over her knee (and I drape well, like all fine things, but that’s not the point) practically folded in half in the middle. It’s damn near impossible to even stay in position like that; it’s the opposite of a bucking bronco because ow. Ow. Ow. She could say she’s about to start before she Ow! Ow! Ow! She could slow down, ya know. Where’s the fire, other than the one she OW!!! Dammit!

“You! Little girl! Are! Too! Old! To be acting! This! Way!” Mixed signals much? “I! Have given you! Enough! Breaks! To last! Your! Naughty! Pink! Bottom! A! Month!”

“I’m sorry!” I don’t know why I even bother to say stuff when she gets going on my butt. She isn’t exactly looking to create a vibrant dialogue in those moments.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK!

And there I am thinking she’s going to pull a muscle – I mean, forget giving me a warm up. She needs one if she’s gonna wail on my butt like that. A few rounds of tennis or something. And thoughts like that are proof that I’m very considerate and also that she’s not spanking hard enough yet because when she is, my thoughts turn to my own vibrant inner dialogue between the part of me that wants to give in and bawl and the part of me that wants to hold out and be brave:

Don’t cry. You’re an adult. You can take your punishment quietly.

But I don’t wanna!

But you do wanna.

But I wanna let it out!

Have some friggin dignity.

Fine, I’ll just sniffle.

Fine, go ahead and sniffle. But just a sniffle.

And that’s when I sniffle, which is very obviously for my own benefit because it does not dissuade Mary or slow her in her task at all ever. That’s about the time when she …

“OW! Umph! Oomph! Ugh! Owie!” Stupid paddle. It’s a sneaky little shit is what it is; I didn’t even see it in Mary’s back pocket. And like I don’t have enough to worry about, I gotta listen to the peanut gallery in my head.

Did we really just say ‘owie?’ Really? Who actually says that?

It hurts!

I can’t believe we have to share a butt. I thought we were an adult.

We are! Adults can say ‘owie’ when something hurts. I’ll prove it!

“Owie! Marrrry!”

That’s it. I’m not sticking around for this. I’ll be back when you’re ready to act our age.

And without that part of me, it gets undignified fast. “Waahhhh! Ahhhh! Aieeeee!” Some would say dignity went out the door the moment I was pantsed and tossed over Mary’s knee, but I say that’s hasty and that I should be judged on the way I conducted myself…

“Please please please please please! I’ll be good! I’ll be good! I’ll be so good!”

Yeah, so there’s that … not my finest moment. Nor was I holding still, and there’s nothing at all to hold onto except Mary’s calf in that position. Meanwhile, she’s just trying to keep hold of me so she doesn’t miss a beat and also so I don’t face plant onto our living room floor, which I appreciate. I’m a very appreciative person. Mary knows this, even if sometimes I have a little trouble demonstrating my appreciativity … appreciativeness … appreciation? It’s hard to find the right words and focus when THIGH! THIGHS! With the paddle and the spanks and the taut skin when they’re landing on the back of my THIGHS!!! “Eheheheheh! Ahehehehehe! Ahaha! Waaaah!”

God, what a hot mess she made me. Face planting didn’t seem like such a bad idea by that point, but I was too worn out to flop around by that point anyway. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

O, I was one sad and sorry Daphne. A wilted little daffodil, as Mary would say. She was saying something, too, not that I could hear it over the sound of my own carrying on. Mary picked me up off her knee, pivoted so she could sit on the edge of the table, and there I was in her lap so I could finish my weeping festival (it’s the worst festival since that Fire Festival dealy).

“You got anymore naughtiness in you,” Mary asked when I stopped being so vocal.

“Mmm,” I sorta whined and shook my head.

“You did so good,” Mary was reassuring me. O sure, now she’s backing up Weepy Daphne. Could’ve used the moral support when the bitchy part of me was being so bitchy to me. “It’s all over. Shhh.”

Stroking my hair. Rubbing my back. Planting the occasional kiss on my head because my face was buried in Mary’s breasts (they’re like outer space – no one there can hear me cry, except Mary). Hemph. I was one well punished brat.

“Such a brave little girl.”

“Umnotuhittlegrl.” I said into the vacuum of outer space.

“Hehe. You’re calming down. Shhh. Good girl.”

Ooooh! She called me a good girl! Sigh…

I picked my head up off her. “I’m sorry for all of that. And the window.” Sniff!

“I know.” She brushed my hair out of my face. “I don’t think you’ll need a reminder like that for a while.”

“Mmm-mmm.”

“I hope not, but the no-strikes rule is still gonna in effect.”

“I know.” Big sniff!

“C’mon. Let’s go wash your face.” She held my hand and I shuffled behind her to the kitchen. She wet a paper towel and wiped the tear streaks away then held it and said, “Honk.” I leaned in and honked, and when I straightened up, Mary had her Daphne-is-such-a-sorry-sight face on. “You are such a sorry sight.” See?

“I need some Tylenol.”

“Headache?”

“Yeah.”

“You cried awfully hard.”

“You spanked awfully hard.”

“You needed an awfully hard spankin’, bratty buns.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You said, I forgave you … And I forgive you for sliming my shirt.” In fairness, I got mine too. “Let’s go change, and then you have some phone calls to make.”

“Okay.”

“And I’ll text your Nana and see if you can hang out there while the window guy is here.”

“Okay.”

“And I’m going to tell Nana about the no-strikes rule and give her a hairbrush of her very own if you stay mopey.”

“I’m not mopey,” I said mopily. “I’m …” At a loss for words when I’m not allowed to be a smartass? “Chastened.”

“You got your consequence, and all is forgiven, so brighten up.”

“Ow! No pinching.”

“I’ll pinch your bright red bottom all the way up the steps if I want to.”

“Marrrry!” It friggin hurts to scamper with a butt that well spanked, but not as much as her “OW! I’m going! I’m going!!!”

“Not fast enough, you little monster!”

“Marrrrryyyyyy!!!”