You’ve heard one of those songs for kids, that has a circular structure so there’s never an end to it? For a moment, reading this, I thought that was the sort of spanking Haron had schemed up for herself:
Suddenly, a song came on air that I really didn’t approve of. Frustrated, I exclaimed:
“I really hate this fucking song!”
“You hate this what?” Abel called back from halfway in a cupboard. “What sort of language is that in the hearing of our neighbours?” He reversed out of the cupboard and said: “Get upstairs.”
Oooh, I thought. What fun.
“So sorry, sir,” I said, giggling.
We walked into the bedroom together, when Abel said: “All the bloody implements are packed!”
I thought: no shit, sir. But didn’t say it.
“This will do,” he announced, snatching up my hairbrush and plopping himself on the bed.
Over his knee I went.
The fact that this was all quite funny didn’t diminish the attrocious sting of the brush one bit. I yelped and wriggled a lot, but thankfully, it was over soon. He let me up, put down the brush and started to walk away.
I rubbed my bottom.
“That really fucking hurt,” I said petulantly.