Procrastinator's Creed

The "task" situation is getting a little in the way of my bliss. Not the fact that I have tasks to complete, but the fact that I am too often screwing it up in this area. What is my problem, anyway? BabyMan gives me something important to do, and all I have to do is get it done by the time he gets home. How difficult is that? I'm a hopeless procrastinator and time never seems to be on my side.  I wind up hurrying to get things done at the very last minute, and nine times out of ten I make it just under the wire.

But that tenth time...

So BabyMan decided one morning that the refrigerator is housing some pretty interesting science projects, and it needed to be detailed like a car. He meets me in the kitchen, leather paddle in hand, to discuss my all important task for the day. He points out the grime in the cracks and crevases, the expiration dates on bottles and jars, the leftovers that are growing hair...

All I can do is stare at that paddle. "Why are you wagging that thing around?" I ask rather irritated because... I HATE cleaning the refrigerator.

"Because you tend to listen better when I have it with me."

"So you think you have to threaten me for me to obey you?"

BabyMan just smiled. "I don't want there to be any misunderstanding, that's all." He waved the paddle at the open fridge. "By the time I get home, am I clear?"

"Crystal," I say caustically.

He kissed and fondled me before he grabbed his briefcase and walked out the door.

Now, I have every intention of having this done in time. It's a big job, so I figured I'll get half of it done early before I get dressed and go to the gym, and the other half in the afternoon.

My workout this day was a bit intense, I'd been trying out some changes in my routine in order to get over a plateau that I had experienced for a couple of weeks. On the way home I stopped off at the store to pick up ingredients for dinner and my lunch.

When I got to my front door with my groceries and gym bag, I noticed that I didn't have my keys with me. But they were right... I could have sworn... Oh no!  I ran back to the car and there, in the ignition were those damned keys, and on the passenger seat was my cell phone. And the door... was... locked!  I think I stared at those keys for a full ten minutes with my nose pressed against the glass like a hungry puppy staring at a steak.

Now, it's cold in April where we live, and mind you, I'm still in a sweaty tee shirt and shorts, and I'm freezing. Most of my neighbors are at work this time of day, and I can't get in my home, or in my car. I haven't made this mistake in 15 years. I'm stranded, feeling foolish, exhausted and frustrated.

Now, to make a long story short, I did finally flag down a neighbor and used his cell to call BabyMan who works in an office about 25 miles away. Now, BabyMan's a man of good humor, and he thought the whole thing was pretty funny, and was happy to leave work to come all the way home and open my car and let me in the house. But by the time I settled in, warmed up and had something to eat, I was overtaken by fatigue. Between my workout and standing in the cold in wet, sweaty clothes, all I wanted at that point was to lie down just for a few minutes so I could get my second wind...

I awoke at... 4:45! I was only supposed to sleep for a few minutes! What the hell happened? I jump out of bed and dash to the kitchen. Not only had I not finished the refrigerator, but the rest of the kitchen is still a mess from breakfast and lunch, and a few remnants from last night's dinner. I can't let BabyMan walk in with it looking like this. I zoomed around in a magical sped-up motion the way Samantha on Bewitched used to when she wanted to get something done before Darrin walked in. I loaded the dishwasher, scrubbed a pot, washed the wine glasses and polished the marble countertop in record speed. Then I  removed what seemed like a thousand bottles from the refrigerator door and began to dismantle the shelves when I heard the key in the door. I look at the clock. 4:58!

"You're early!" I yelled nervously. He habitually walks in that door every evening at 5:00 on the nose. Dammit, I want my 2 minutes.

BabyMan spots the mess of bottles on the island in the kitchen. "What happened?" he asks with a disturbing wrinkle in his forehead.

"I don't know. I fell asleep." It sounds like a really lame excuse, especially from someone who only had one thing she was expected to accomplish for the day. "My workout was really hard, and... I didn't have enough for breakfast... and.... I... I was really cold when I got locked out, and..."  I was sounding whiney and pathetic.

He said nothing, walked over to me and kissed me on the forehead, then left to change clothes. When he comes out, he has the paddle in his hand, places it on the arm of the couch, sits down and turns on the television. "Why don't you finish cleaning the fridge, make dinner, and we'll take care of this after American Idol."

He seemed so calm, so relaxed. I almost miss the days when he'd raise his voice when he was angry. But I'm not sure he's even angry. I think he's just rationally resigned himself to the fact that we now have a way to handle my procrastination problem, and there's no reason or need for drama.

I took my time on the last of the refrigerator, made him a really nice chicken dish with vegetables and rice, and poured him a glass of wine. American Idol was a 2-hour special that night, and when it was half way through he turned to me and said, "I want you to get the bath brush and meet me in the den wearing only your panties."

The bath brush? The BATH BRUSH? I was a little confused and a lot scared. Usually for an unfinished task, I am expected to bend over the bed, lower my jeans and take about 12 to 15 whacks with the paddle. The bath brush? The den? Panties only? What was going on? Maybe he was really angry.

I had to think fast. "The show isn't over yet.  Don't you want to see who get's eliminated?"

"Not necessary.  I'm recording it."

"You know," I touched him sensually on the thigh,  "you don't have to spank me. There's no rule that says you have to."  I was grasping at straws now.

BabyMan smiled almost sadly. "Maybe not in your world," he said. "The problem is that we could have spent a really nice evening together.  I was really looking forward to hanging out with my wife tonight.  All you had to do was one thing, and you decided you didn't respect me enough to put in the effort."

"No! that's not true! I..."  I was so hurt. I never wanted him to think that I didn't care.  I had to defend myself.

"This is not up for discussion," he said before I could formulate my argument in my head. "Go get ready."

God, I hate it when he says that.

In the den he sat on the couch and put a couple of pillows between his feet, opening his legs wide to fit my body between his knees. "kneel here," he said. I obeyed but couldn't look at him. He lifted my chin with the paddle. "I'm wondering if maybe you enjoy being in this position."

I felt the tears well up in my eyes. "No," I said quietly. "I hate it."

"Apparently you don't hate it enough. Sugar, all your spankings should be sexual, erotic.  Fun. This is supposed to be our time together.  Now I've got to spend my evening punishing you because you don't respect me."

As I lay across his lap, I realize that maybe BabyMan saw something in me that I had become unaware of. I think maybe I had started to take my unfinished task spankings for granted. It's become too easy to blow off what's expected of me, knowing that I only have to take a few mildly uncomfortable whacks for a few seconds out of my life. I had made a sincere effort to drop the annoying habit of procrastination, a habit that had plagued and interfered with my life for years, only to find comfort and complacency in it's consequences.

This was the most intense punishment I've had for not completing a task.  It was never supposed to be like this.  It ranked right up there with the spankings I received for smoking after my quit date, and the fiasco of walking out on him during our last argument.  I actually tried to maintain my composure, and keep from screaming and crying like I was being tortured, but that only lasted about 6 seconds. And if the pain wasn't bad enough, I think 60% of my tears were stemming from the lecture I received while he's punishing my bottom with the bath brush. "I'm wondering if I can trust you now... I'm starting to question your integrity... If you really wanted to obey me you could have set your alarm to wake you up in time... I don't think you respect me... "

I sobbed and screamed until I was again exhausted, and for someone who had recently had 4 hours sleep in the middle of the afternoon, I was led back to bed where my sore bottom was pampered with lotion, and I was tucked in for the night where I cried myself to sleep... again.

Yet I still staunchly live by the procrastinator's creed.... that even after all the trauma of this last punishment, I sit here typing at 4:30 pm. I have a task of shredding a box of documents before BabyMan get's home in a half an hour, and somehow I am confident that I can get it done in the last five minutes before he walks in the door.

Old habits...