Spanked

Know that I was the most innocent looking little brown girl with pigtails and glasses in my part of town. Know that this was a cover. Inside that little girl, dwelled a deeply disturbed, wicked-person in training. That sprouting wicked-person was so wicked in fact, the devil followed her around with a notepad, saying, ‘now THAT’S evil,‘ while he took notes. I really was evil. Don’t believe me?

I wasn’t quite 5 years old, and I was with my mom at a small gathering of her friends one Sunday. From the way I recall being dressed, this must have taken place right after religious services, which compounds the wickedness of the story I’m about to tell. I remember the soft velvety texture of my red dress. I was wearing white tights that had red hearts on them. I was one of the children that politically-correct people call precocious, and I tended to find trouble easily. This day was no exception, and I managed do something my mother did not like. She, in turn, did something I did not like; she spanked me. I wasn’t about to forget that.

As is typical with girls, I had no trouble with potty-training, and once I was fully potty-trained, to my mother’s recollect, I never wet the bed. In the dark corners of my four year old, but sinister mind, I devised a plan to even the score with my mother. I planned to wet the bed that night. I quickly pictured her shock of my wetting the bed, perhaps even worry, and all the extra work she’d have to do, and I was happy. I really liked this plan, and when I climbed into bed in my light blue, footed pajamas, I could barely wait until morning. Now, like most wicked people, I was no fool. I had no intention, even at that age of lying in my own urine all night. So I waited. I waited until just before my mother came in my room in the morning and proceeded with my little accident.

It was everything I hoped for! My mother was so shocked, she wasn’t even angry. She asked me if I was feeling okay, which I couldn’t have been better. As she was pulling off the sheets of my bed I was out of my skin with excitement. I was so proud about my revenge, I almost wanted to share it with her, the way you tell your mother about the drawing you made, or the word you spelled correctly. I had the good sense to withhold this accomplishment however, until much later when I was in my earlier twenties. At that time, I figured, ‘hey, my mom and I are both adults, we can have a beer and laugh about this.’

I was wrong.

If only someone could have witnessed the fire in my mother’s eyes when I casually told her this story. Her lip curled up as she apparently remembered being very worried about my wetting my bed so randomly, since it was something I’d never done before. Learning that it had been a deliberate act was all she could do to keep her hands to herself.

“Oh my god. You wanna spank me, don’t you?’ I said, knowing the answer.

She was so angry she couldn’t even respond

“Mom, one, you're not boyfriend, and two, if you spank me at this age it’s assault and battery. I’m sorry! I was an evil little child. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have kids, they’d turn out just like me, and I’d be punished for all my sins. I’m sorry!”

It took her a full day to begin speaking to me again.