Sometimes I have a really bad temper. In the morning, when things seem to be going wrong, and I'm overly tired, it can be especially bad. Dave is very easy-going. Rarely, if ever, yells. And he *never* yells at me. So, when my temper gets out of control and I blow up at him it's inexcusable. I tell you that to tell you this ... Last Wednesday I learned a good lesson about tempers.
I didn't get much sleep Tuesday night. The dogs were restless, I was restless, I didn't feel well and I was feeling very PMSy. (It's a word!) But, I was hanging in there ... until I saw that instead of lifting the make-shift lid that's over the trash to throw some things away Dave had just thrown some trash on TOP of the "lid." (Really, it's a cooling rack that fit nicely over the trash can. It's purpose was to keep the dog from getting in the trash. My dog, by the way, not his.) This is something that has irritated me for weeks but that morning I just couldn't deal. I bitched at him while we were getting in the car and on our way, and he bitched back that if I would let him *teach* the dog not to get in the trash we wouldn't need it.
A fight ensued. Mostly, it was me yelling and him quietly telling me I was wrong. I *know* that it pisses him off that we had the rack over the trash can - but it was my quick-fix to the problem. But, I took it to an extreme. I yelled, loudly, and told him "Fine, from now on I'm not doing SHIT for you. I'm not cleaning, I'm not doing your laundry, I'm not cooking. Nothing. I'm coming home from work and sitting around. If you can't do one simple fucking thing for me!" (There were probably a lot more f-words than that, to be honest). Very quietly Dave said, "See, when you get like this you make it very hard for me to NOT say the things I really don't WANT to say."
So, to make a long story less long (short will not be an option), I cried and asked if he wanted me to move out and he was quick to put that fear to rest -- and by that time we were at work. I spent the day almost in tears. Went to lunch just so I could cry in the car. I felt horrible. I sent him an apology later and his response was, "I'm over it. I think we should get a trash can with a good lid."
When we got home I went and got the hairbrush - which, if anyone reading this knows me at all knows this is a HUGE sign of submission from me; I fear that thing like I can't even describe -- and I took it to Dave. Nothing else really needed to be said. We went into the bedroom and he lectured me a little about how it's NOT okay to freak out like I did. How it's NOT okay to say hurtful things and to yell and cuss over something so stupid. And I knew it was stupid. I knew it at the time that I was freaking out. But, it was like I had something pent up inside and once I started I couldn't stop.
He sat on the bed and instructed me to pull my pants down -- and panties, too. He put me over his lap and spanked me with his hand for a long time. Hard. I was crying almost immediately, but I felt somewhat relieved, too. I kept thinking, "This is how it's supposed to be. This is what I need and he's the man I need it from. " It hurt, and it only continued to get worse, but I felt very peaceful about it.
But the hairbrush was horrible, as always. He didn't use it sparingly. I was yelping and begging and struggling after the fourth or fifth swat, even though I truly wanted to just take it and let it wash away all the guilt. I did my best and he had mercy on me. I was hugged after, and kissed. Though I continued to cry and feel bad for awhile, Dave just kept saying, "Honey, it's over. It's okay now. You're forgiven."
And I knew that was true. And I knew everything was exactly how it's supposed to be.