Mary and Daphne #181

Everyone hates when vacations end. Mary, for instance, hates when vacations end because she has to go back to work. I, for another instance, hate when vacations end because Mary has to go back to work.

I don’t think I’ll ever puzzle out how it can be that when you’re not working the days can fly by so fast but you can still be bored. It’s been a couple years since I last had a job, and even thought it seems like I always have things to do and manage to fill most of my day, I still get bored.

Not on vacation, though, and not because it’s a new place with more things to do, but because I have Mary to play with or even just sit next to. I tried doing that at home, but it somehow wasn’t the same just sitting next to her in her office. It was actually powerfully boring (and I kept wanting to be in physical contact with her, but I swear I’m not a puppy; really).

One day left in our vacation, and I didn’t wanna go home. I was very mature about it though. I didn’t grump or get in a bad mood or take my feelings out on … Okay, so I did all those things, but in my defense … Nope, that’s all I got. Dammit …

I’d been a bit snippy all day, and it was late afternoon when Mary asked me, “Are you packed yet?” She’s so Type A. Like I couldn’t just throw my stuff in my bag the next day, drive four hours back home, and then dump it all into the washer. It was going to end up in the washer when we got home whether I folded and packed it neatly or not.

“No. I’ll do it later.”

“It’s almost dinner time. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Exactly. We have all evening and the morning.” Totally legit logic. The real issue was Mary, being all Type-A, was anxious because an essential task that could be done right then was not yet done. Why put off til tomorrow and all that jazz.

“We’re leaving by eight.”

“Yeah. I can get it done before then. I’ll get up an extra twenty minutes early … Stop looking at me like that. I can, too, get up early.” I mean, obviously I can. I did it just a few days prior when I got up even before Mary. Granted, that wasn’t on purpose, and getting up early on purpose is like climbing a mountain with another mountain on your back, but I can surely do it. Probably.

“Why don’t you pack right now and have an extra twenty minutes to sleep in?”

“Mary, just …” I stopped because I recognized her be-ever-so-careful-with-what-you-say-next face. It’s her way of telling me without telling me I should be ever so careful with what I say next.

“Think hard about what you say next,” Mary told me. See how well I know her? She can be a sphinx when it comes to what she’s thinking, or she can telegraph it like a professional telegrapher.

“Urgh! Fine. I’ll go pack.” Not because I gave in, for the record. I just acceded to her suggestion to make life easier for myself. I was told later that everything about my body language between the couch and the stairs screamed sulky teenager. I disagree. It was more sullen than sulky.

Of course, once I got to the bedroom, I discovered a flaw in Mary’s it-will-only-take-a-few-minutes logic: there’s a bed in the bedroom (I feel like I should’ve predicted that and foreseen the problems it would create). As far as furniture goes, beds are so much way better than couches. I mean, they’re just the best. I’m a fangirl for beds.

I knew if I sat down on it, it was game over. When it comes to beds, I have a weak core; if my butt cheeks touch the bed, I would almost certainly just tilt over into one of the laying-down positions (the laying-down positions are the best; total fangirl) and probably end up scrolling on my phone or falling asleep. I resolved to put the suitcase on the bed and keep myself off that sweet, sweet mattress.

But I have weak resolve sometimes. Truly it is rare as I am abstemious in my appetites and determined in my intentions as all paragons of the virtuous life such as myself are. Yet paragons of the virtuous life are also human, and of all the paragons, I am the best at being human. Very humble of me to say so (which is also a virtue; just sayin’). True story.

Hence I was discovered on the bed next to an empty suitcase. In my defense, I was being very human, which is to say alternating between scrolling and staring at the ceiling. I was being so human, I didn’t even look toward the door when Mary came in or turn my eyes toward her when she stated, “You haven’t even gotten started.”

“I got distracted.”

She sighed her exasperated sigh – ya know, the one she saves for when she’s exasperated, often by the choices I’ve been making – but nonetheless offered to help me. “I’ll help you,” she said. She’s very helpful.

“’Kay.”

I probably – maybe, possibly, it’s a thing that coulda happened – could’ve been a little less rude there. I admit this. I’m a paragon of admitting my own mistakes and flaws. Really.

“Scooch,” was Mary’s ever patient response as she moved the suitcase out of her way, nudged my legs and sat down on the edge of the bed next to me so she could put the back of her hand on my forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you getting a flare-up?”

“What? No.”

“Didn’t get enough sleep?”

That made me at least look up from my phone. Probably shouldn’t have; it just made it that much worse when I said, “Mary, would you please just chill? Alright? Just …”

I would one day like to capture on video how she can toss me over her knee no matter where we are in physical space in relation to each other. I was lying down, she was sitting by my knees, and my legs were behind her, and before I could even get out the next syllable, my head was at the opposite end of the bed and my whole body was in front of her, sprawled across her lap. She’s a ninja or a sorceress or a teleporter because the physics and physiology of how even does that … friggin ninja sorceresses. Marry one if you can – highly recommend it, ¥/10), but be warned.

SPANK!

“Because I haven’t packed my suitcase yet,” I incredulously exclaimed by way of demanding to know why I was about to get spanked. I mean, geez, the incredibleness of it, am I right? (Of course I am; I’m a paragon … and stuff. Really.)

“Because of your attitude. I have no idea what has gotten into you, but I’m gonna spank it outta you, and then you’re going to tell me what’s bothering you so much that you’re being such a brat today.”

“I AM NOT! I wanna be OW! Stop it! I OW!”

“Up.” I got back on my feet. And if you’re thinking she calls a few spanks a spanking, no. No, she doesn’t.

“No,” was my very clever and well-reasoned response to her attempt to unbutton my shorts. She can usually pop that button with just one one hand, but she needed both because I, well …

“You keep your hands at your side,” Mary said with way more calmness that I deserved. She turned me sideways and landed a couple of her signature thunderspanks on the back of my thighs before turning me back to finish the shorts removal. “You know better than to try to stop me from taking your pants and undies down, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl,” I didn’t whine. I also didn’t try to stop her again, and down went my shorts and panties. Imagine her just exposing me like that; I mean don’t cuz perv much, but imagine the effrontery of it … and stuff.

But I did give her about 1% resistance to being put back over her knee. I didn’t mean to. I swear. “Over, Daphne Ann.” I think she was spanking me before I even got all the way across her lap. Good on me for clenching my throat shut while she wailed at my butt and made it very clear to me, “You had better hold still, or so help me …”

I didn’t hear the rest. I was too busy focusing on the injustice of it all. I’m allowed to be in a bad mood if I wanna be.

SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK!

I’m allowed to pack my suitcase last minute.

SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK!

I’m allowed to be a total bitch to my wife who was nothing but reasonable and patient even while I was being bratty and rude.

Actually, wait a sec …

SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK!

This isn’t injustice, said me in my head. This is justice, said me to me in my head. And then Me 1 and Me 2 agreed on a proper course of action:

We should cry pretty hard.

Yes, it will make us feel better.

And express our remorse.

So it is agreed.

We shall cry.

Very hard.

Very, very hard.

Let us commence.

“M-M-Marrrrryyyyyyy I’m sorrrrrrrrrryyyyyyyy! Waaaaahhhhhh!”

I’m not such a fan of that onomatopoeia, but you get the idea. I made ows and ouches, eepsand meeps, oofs and ooos, urghs and uggs, boosand hoos, and so many tears.

“What bee is in your bonnet today? You know better than to cop an attitude and take it out on me …” She didn’t sound cross with me after the waterworks started (what little I could hear of her over my own carrying on). She only kept spanking me so fast and hard cuz she knew it would help me get all the yucky feelings out.

SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK! “… Nothing but back talk since breakfast …” SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK!

“…I did nothing to deserve the way you’ve treated me today…” SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK! “…Is this how you want to end our nice trip?” SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK!

I did my very best to explain myself. “Meemee-mee (distressed chipmunk noises) and didn’t mean (distraught capybara noises) and futternuusin (ashamed hippopotamus noises).

SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK!

“Is that enough,” she asked me. SPANK!

“Eeee!”

“Do you need me to get the hairbrush?” SPANK! SPANK!

“Neee!”

“Are you ready to talk to me about what’s bothering you?” SPANK!

“Yeee!”

SPANK! “Okay, up you go.”

Scooped up off her lap so I could sit in her lap, I put my head in her shirt, let her rub my back, and did some more crying while she cooed at me.

“Shhh. You’re okay.”

“Yari!”

“What was that, baby?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. I forgive you.”

“I eedn’t meebemeatuyu.”

“Take a breath and tell me again.” I always forget the breathing part, and Mary always reminds me. She likes it when I breath, and I’m a big fan too. We complement each other’s skills and likes and things.

“I didn’t mean to be mean to you.”

“I know. I know you didn’t. Shhh. Try to catch your breath.”

Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one sobbing with the cramping diaphragm and freely flowing nose.

“Can you try telling me why you were in such a bad mood?”

That’s easy. “Cuz I don’t wanna go home.”

“Neither do I.”

“You have to go back to work. I … (sob sniff snort).”

“What?”

How pathetic is this? “I miss you when you’re at work.” I’m the most mature person ever, for the record. I can miss my person when she’s away for just a few hours and express my impending sadness by taking it out on her and it’s not at all childish and doesn’t make me any less mature … and stuff. Really … Shut up – no one asked you.

“Daffy …”

“(Snorfle).” I am so attractive at all the times. 11/10 easy, and that’s me being humble. “I mean I get bored and wanna do stuff with you and you can’t. I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“Yes it is.”

“Your feelings are never stupid. I know what you’re trying to say. You just want us to be as playful and carefree as we get to be on vacation.”

“Yeah …”

“Me too.”

“It sucks.”

“I know. But we’ll do our best, and you have to admit …”

“Make me.” She’s always trying to get me to admit stuff.

She chuckled and continued, “our best is pretty darn good. One of these days, my little sass muffin (kiss), I’m gonna find out (kiss) just how long (kiss) and hard (kiss) I have to spank you until you’re sass-free for more than 5 minutes (kiss kiss kiss).”

“(Snorfle) Do I habba be bere bor it? (Snort).”

She scortled at me. “Let’s go wash your face and blow your nose.”

And ya know what she did? She held my hand to the bathroom. What is wrong with me that I’m ever, ever short-tempered with her? She’s seriously the best.

“I’m sorry,” I told her while she ran warm water over a washcloth.

“Look up.” She gently wiped the tear streaks away while reminding me, “you said sorry already, and it’s all forgiven and over. You’re my good girl always.”

I wonder if I’m the only person in the world who can whimper and be happy at the same time. I mean, she forgives me? (Whimper.) And I’m her good girl? (Squee!) Always (Whimper-Squee? Squimper? Yep, new word).

“There’s my pretty girl again. Honk,” she told me and and held the washcloth for me to blow my nose into. I’da held it myself, but I opted to humor her. And I don’t honk, by the way.

“(Honk! Snnnnn Snnnnnrfurgh Hoooonk!)” See? I don’t honk. Really.

“How much you got in there still?” She was chuckling at me. She thinks I’m cute when my nose is running uncontrollably. I won the wife/best friend sweepstakes.

“(Snrf honk-honk snrr snrif snfff). I’m done.”

“And after getting so much on my shirt too. But comes with raising little girls who sometimes forget they can use their words when they have feelings they need to let out.”

“Can you do something for me,” I asked.

“Anything.”

“Don’t be so patient with me next time. When I get in a mood like that and start taking it out on you. Don’t be so patient with me. I hate that about me, that I do that to you.”

And then was she out of nowhere hugging me like a riptide threatening to carry me away Like, oof. Seriously.

“I don’t hate anything about you,” she replied in her you-better-listen-and-listen-good tone. “I promise to be quicker to help snap you out of those moods, but you have to promise to try to stop hating anything about yourself. No one’s perfect.”

“But I am, is the thing.” Like, paragon here. did she know she was hugging the stuffing out of a paragon?

Her hand slid down my back to my butt and squeezed kinda definitely hard. “Daffy.” That was said in her you-will-not-get-out-of-dealing-with-your-emotions-by-making-jokes tone.

“I promise to try.”

And she kissed me before letting me out of that hug. Couldn’t help myself; had to say it. “I’m sorry I’m so much trouble sometimes.”

“I love that you’re so much trouble sometimes. Let’s go pack your suitcase.”

“Really?”

“Really, little girl. We’ll do it together.”

It takes way longer with Mary’s help. She folds things. And doesn’t let you wear pants. Ugh. So wonderful.