Building the Kingdom

BabyMan has decided that there are certain things that he simply will not tolerate anymore.  I'm not talking about the biggies... Disrespect, Disobedience and Dangerous behavior.. I've pretty much managed to think twice before I jump into one of those dark holes. I'm talking about all the little things that, when accumulated equal a spanking of epic proportions.  And as it turns out, there are quite a few of them.  I'm afraid that over the years I have neglected to take seriously the requests, the demands, the repeated reminders to these pet peeves, and as a result have caused the volcano to begin erupting all over me.

BabyMan is starting to build his kingdom one brick at a time. The little things that have been getting on his nerves will from now on be dealt with, where before, all he could do was nag.  Case in point:  A few weeks ago I had, for the millionth time, left the the hall closet door open. The hall is quite narrow, and BabyMan's shoulders are fairly broad.  Having to squeeze through the hallway without banging himself against the closet door was a skill that he's had to acquire since his constant demands for my cooperation in this area had been going virtually ignored.

"SugarAnne, come here."

I know that tone of voice. He's not angry. Irritated is more accurate.

I rise from my seat in the living room and walk to the hall.

"You see this?" he asks.

"What?"  I don't see anything out of the ordinary.  Just BabyMan standing in the hall with his hands on his hips.

"This door. Why is it so hard for you to close it?"

I don't know how to answer that. It's not hard... I just don't do it. What's the big deal, anyway?

"Okay," he goes on. "You hear this sound?" He closes the door, and a loud squeak from the WD-40 starved hinges reverberates throughout the unit. "That's the sound of a spanking," he said.

"What?"

"Every time you hear that sound, that means I had to close the door after you left it open. You don't want to hear that sound, believe me."

I think my jaw dropped open. and the corners of my mouth went up. He had to be joking.  "You're not serious," I said. "It's a DOOR! It's so not a big deal. You can close it yourself in a fraction of a second!"

"If it's so easy to close, then why don't you do it yourself instead of making me do it?"

Now, logic is usually on my side when BabyMan and I have minor disagreements, but on those rare occasions when he actually has a good point, It really pisses me off. I wanted to argue... but I didn't have a leg to stand on. "Fine. Whatever." I said begrudgingly.

"Excuse me?" he said. Time seems to stop when he wants to know if I have the nerve to repeat myself after I've said something clearly a little too flippant and smart alecky for the situation. He stares at me, piercing eyes boring into my lioness of an attitude, reducing it to a timid kitten.

"I mean..." Damn, I hate when he intimidates me with just a look. "I mean ... okay, I'll try."

"There's more," he said.  He walked into the bedroom and took down the leather paddle from the hook by the door and returned to the hallway, grabbed me by the hand and dragged me into the kitchen.  "I want you to take a look at this," he said as he waved the paddle in the air as though he were attempting to clear away the smoke of some annoying brush fire that wouldn't be doused.

I glanced up, and noticed, probably for the very first time, that every single cabinet was open as well as quite a few drawers.  I covered my mouth with my hand to hide my smile. "Oh...," was all I could say.

"Yeah, OH!" he mocked.  "I can't get through the kitchen without having to go through an obstacle course."  He wagged the paddle at an open drawer at the entrance of the kitchen.  "Do you have any idea how many times I've banged my shins on that thing?"

I really did try not to laugh, but an unintentional snicker snorted through my nose as I struggled to look away.  "I'm sorry," I said pathetically.  "That just kind of happens when I cook," I mumbled. When I cook your dinner!

"We've gone over this a million times.  Well I'm done.  I'm going to stop nagging you."

Good!

"And I'm going to start spanking you."

Bad!

I made an excellent effort if I may say so myself. It was actually several days before I lost the first battle.

"SugarAnne..."

There was that tone I've grown to know so well.

I was in the kitchen cooking. "Yeah, Babe," I sang sweetly.

"What is this sound?" Suddenly I heard the sound of a squeaky door bouncing off the walls of our home. It took me a moment to register... and then I felt my face flush and I bit my lower lip. Damn, I had been so diligent about this thing. I frowned.  I didn't even look around the corner at the offending evidence. I just stood there, searching the hard drive in my brain for a way to stave off the impending conviction. There was a way out of this, and I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't at least take my best shot through some ambiguous loophole.

"I didn't leave that open!" I said. Yes, this was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment.

"Well, I didn't do it."

"How do you know? You could have."

"I never even open this closet," he said.

I couldn't argue with that. That closet is filled with laundry supplies and winter coats. It's too hot for a winter coat, and he hasn't done laundry in years.  Suddenly I was angry. It occurred to me that the closet door had originally been opened so that I could take out the iron in order to smooth out the wrinkles in his casual day work shirts.  I had been working my delicate fingers to the bone for his pleasure, convenience and comfort, only to be ridiculed for my efforts. 
"I opened it because I had to IRON YOUR SHIRTS!" I said indignantly.

He peeked around the corner. "I don't care why you opened it. There's no reason why you can't close it."

This is so unfair! No good deed goes unpunished?

"Pick a pervertable," he said.

I refused to cooperate in my own demise. "No!" I snapped. "I want to go on record as saying...This sucks!"

"Duly noted. Pick a pervertable."

I stood with my arms crossed and my jaw set, staring... waiting...

"If I have to pick one for you, you won't like it," he said calmly.

I turned to the crock on the counter, snatched a wooden spoon out of it, and shoved it at him.  Then I turned around and dropped my shorts and panties and bent over the marble counter top.  "This sucks," I repeated, again for the record.

I felt the wood make contact with my sit spot, only twice, but it was hard, and loud, and it stung like crazy.  These pet peeves of his have become almost an obsession.  Well, they feel like an obsession to me because I'm getting whacked for them a little too often these days.  These are things that I've made such a habit that stopping suddenly to change horses in mid stream seems almost impossible.  Lock the door, Turn the lights out, close the cabinets, close the shades, close out the browser on the computer, turn off the TV when you leave the room, keep laundry off the bed...

So like I said, the nagging has stopped and the spanking has begun.  And His Majesty continues to build his kingdom brick by brick, annoyance by annoyance, whack by whack.