After a week spent cleaning and moving, I’ve finally gotten back into practicing calligraphy (the fact my dad was staying out of town this weekend is likely connected to my returned focus as well as some spanking play). For the past couple of days I’ve both had stuff I’ve wanted to blog here (and on caligráfica) while also doing lettering practice. What’s happened is that I’ve done the calligraphy and left the blogging to now, just keeping the practice album up-to-date. Soo, here’s some thoughts.
[Something you may have noticed when looking at the most recent Tinies is the addition of rather shaky Gothic capitals. At my class last Monday, in addition to going over our recent homework, taking us down from a 5mm to 2 1/2mm nib, and discussing the coming illumination project, my teacher also introduced capitals. I’m struggling with them, but just trusting that practice will eventually make them better and all that. On the “K is for Kate” I’m experimenting with using a reddish brown ink for the “K” and “Kate” but as the ink is thinner than the black, I’m not sure how it works out. Like most of my lettering practice, it looks a lot better photographed than it does in person.]
Our apartment seems to be getting re-organized and cleaned room by room. It’s amazing the amount of weird stuff we were saving for reasons lost in time and space. These included included random cardboard boxes and odd bits of outmoded technology. Purging things is hard for me, but once I start it feels so good I don’t want to stop.
Here’s an odd fact though — my motivation to get the house organized seems connected to practicing calligraphy. Further, the cleaning and organizing has moved outward from my calligraphy “studio” (as a friend pleases me by calling it) into the rest of the apartment. I’ve organized and now try and keep tidy our entire bedroom (which means keeping up on laundry since otherwise it takes over the floor). My dad’s moving in prompted me/us to re-organize the guest room and bathroom. This weekend we worked on the box room / technology closet. Having things organized has me feel a bit more centered – a Good Thing).
Collars and Shopping: The Challenge Begins
Getting organized required a bit of shopping, meaning Saturday dawned with plans for a trip to Costco and Dick Blick’s (both for a paper storage portfolio and also supplies for the coming illumination project). We also planned to go out for breakfast (at lunch time).
The night before, Paul, who has something of a fetish in this area, told me I’d be wearing a collar and tie all day Saturday. I reminded him we would not be at home and was told that was the point. After moaning a bit about having to be “in uniform” on a Saturday, I went to sleep, excited about the next day.
The next morning, after Paul had a bit of a lie-in and I spent happy hours consuming coffee and surfing friends’ blogs in my pjs, Paul told me it was time to get dressed. He picked out the shirt (one of the ones he had custom made so while it fits perfectly everywhere else, the collar is just a tiny bit too small). I got to choose the tie based on the other things I was wearing, but Paul added a pair of knickers to the “Items to Be Worn” list. This meant I couldn’t really wear my jeans because if you’ve ever worn heavy school knickers, you’ll know they give a new meaning to the term “visible panty line.” I decided on a slightly-too-short-for-someone-my-age black pleated skirt, striped tights, black docs and a black sweater with white trim. The tie (as you can see) is a burgundy and grey striped one.
I took a while getting dressed since I was also tweeting and consulting travel websites, but finally I was dressed and the game began. The game? Yes, game. Or rather, challenge. You see, as things exist in our world, the collar on these shirts belongs to Paul, not me. I was informed that on Saturday I wasn’t to tug at, fiddle with or even touch it at all. Period. The penalty for each infraction while we were out: 12 smacks with the heavy hairbrush when we got home. (This was in addition to the base of 12 at which I was apparently starting.)
Those of you who know me know I have rather nasty eczema and an annoying habit of fidgeting, rubbing and scratching, though of course I shouldn’t. One of my eczema spots is my neck. Within minutes of buttoning it, the skin under the snug collar began to itch.
I complained. Paul reminded me that I could always ask him to slide his fingers under the collar to relieve the skin (or pull it tighter though he didn’t say that). But no touching for me.
Great. My collar had rarely felt snugger.
Twitter Tells the Tale
On the way to breakfast I discovered that by using my iPhone constantly I could keep my hands busy enough and away from my neck. My tweeting was sky high, with the result that I ended up logging each failure and its location.
First tweet was a picture of my collar and tie
2:58PM Damn! Made it thro breakfast but forgot &pulled on tie in cashier line. HB count now at 24 + I was scolded in parking lot. Sulking.
From breakfast we went to Dick Blick’s (art store). My focused shopping and full hands kept me safe there. (I even ended up buying my first paper tube for use holding paper.) But then we left…
3:55 PM Ack. Not thinking & fiddling w/ collar again. Must keep hands busy. HB count now at 36. =8-0
Sensing a pattern? As soon as my hands are free, they seem to head for my collar. Feh!
5:53 PM Due to Costco stress & distraction, HB total now at 48.
The Costco trip was a success. We got an amazing deal on a great set of chrome storage shelves (for the closet) at Costco for less than $28. They’re amazing because despite the low price they don’t suck and each shelf can supposedly hold 350 lbs. Nonetheless, Paul and I have not tried sitting one one together in order to test this claim. It does seem to be doing a great job holding stuff.
But that’s not so interesting, right?
Okay, about the hairbrush and me. On the way home I whined that all the stress of shopping and crowds had left me feeling tired. Paul very kindly said my hairbrushing could be postponed until later. I’m always happy with spankings being “later” especially since they sometimes end up not happening. However, in this case, the count would continue to rise with each slip of my hand until after I got out of the collar. Which meant until after the hairbrushing. After an hour of stalling, I finally literally asked for it. As much as I wasn’t looking forward to 48 whacks, 60 would have been worse.
The chair was put in the empty space in our room — a space generally only used for the chair. Paul bared me, put me over his lap, told me not to put my hands back and started whacking me with the brush. The whacks weren’t super hard, I know he’s capable of much harder ones, but without a warm up they hurt. I was in no sense of the word brave. I didn’t put my hands back, but only because Paul said there’d be an extra 12 each time I did it. Instead I tightened my grip on the chair, whined, kicked and finally howled.
I lost track of the count at 12 and begged to know what it was. Paul wouldn’t tell me, but just continued to whack me. Not knowing the count heightened feeling of being out of control, of being trapped. I protested that he might just keep going forever then. Fortunately it wasn’t long before the spanking reached a climax and was over. I’m sure he didn’t give me extra and am equally sure it took less than five minutes. But felt it like an eternity.
Afterwards he put together the new shelves while I cooed over organized my new art supplies.