Warning! Warning!

Every once in a while I'll reflect on the subtle differences in communication that have taken place in the last year as a result of ttwd, or tweed, as my phrase turning husband might say. He has a distinct look on his face when he's warning me that I'm coming dangerously close to a spanking if I don't back off, or lower my voice, or calm down, or rephrase my request... There's a look that he gets that begins with his simply getting very quiet, and his head will ever so slowly turn toward me until his eyes lock with mine. His facial expression is not menacing or hard, and half the time there is no frown or wrinkling of the forehead. it's just a look. facial muscles relaxed, but the silence is deafening.

Lately he's taken to shifting his eyes to look toward the leather paddle that's been sitting in the den since a previous incident. A while ago, on my way to bed, I stopped in the den during my evening ritual to kiss him goodnight. He inquired about the light in the living room (I have a bit of a habit of leaving it on when I'm the last one to leave the area). I was immediately irritated. I hadn't finished my evening ritual, and was going to be in and out before the final exit. And again, I have to blame the hormones for my reaction.

"Why are you sweatin' me? I'll get to the lights when I get to it. Do you mind?"

It wasn't a nasty, venomous snap, just a little sarcasm that may have crossed the line, and my tone may have gone over to the dark side.

B'Man reached for the remote and muted the television as though he wanted to make sure he was hearing correctly.

"What's your problem?" I ask, still in battle mode.

Suddenly I recognized that slow turn of the head, and his eyes made contact.  It reminded me of Linda Blair when she made that slow 360 degree turn of her head in The Exorcist, revealing the demon within.  There's a slight lift of the eyebrow that indicates that he's a bit surprised that I chose to challenge him, and a touch of humor at my sudden stupid bravery. His eyes shift to the other side of the couch, and I follow his gaze to the arm of the couch where there rests the leather paddle that was used to bring me back to earth on Christmas day. I bite my bottom lip and try to smile sheepishly as he cuts his eyes back to me. There are no words that come from his mouth. It's not necessary. I got the message. I leave the room as quickly as possible with my dignity in tact.

B'Man's warnings have have been quite clear and unmistakable of late. Usually in the morning when he gives me a particular task for me to complete during the day, he'll write it down and hand it to me. There have been misunderstandings and miscommunications in the past that have warranted a written record of his request. When he hands it to me, he'll say, "There, it's written on paper. Don't make me come home and have to write it on your ass." or, my personal favorite: "I'll be back here with a white glove... and a black belt."

That will inspire a bit of caustic, yet nervous laughter from me.

And yet, every so often the lioness will come out in me. A hormonal symptom? Possibly. But mostly I simply feel like exerting my power (what little there is of it). B'Man will allow me to go so far. He clearly recognizes a need in me to push my limit, but when it's reached, I am reigned back in, gently but firmly.

I may rant and rave, point fingers, make empty threats, become a little snide or sarcastic, and then finally...

"Obviously I didn't spank you hard enough last time," or... "Apparently you don't get your ass spanked enough around here."

That tends to change my mood pretty fast.

Then of course there's the silent but deadly removing of his belt, folding it in his hand and menacingly slapping a piece of furniture to elicit a nervous reaction from me. I'll jump from the sound and catch that humorous twinkle in his eye as he shakes the belt at me and says, "You get where I'm coming from?"

I'll raise my hands in surrender. "I'm sure the whole neighborhood gets where you're coming from, BabyMan."

As he saunters out of the room, sporting that Simon Barr Sinister laugh of his, I'll mumble "Jerk," under my breath.

"I heard that!"