Countdown to a caning

When I boarded the flight to the UK, I was excited, tired, apprehensive and nervous. It has now been a week, and I can honestly say there has not been a day where I did not enjoy myself. But I am out of sorts, in a big way.

Uncle Nick yesterday in his illness even had enough, although I actually think he was just looking for an excuse to get to my bottom. So, I can now officially say that I have been spanked, over someone's knee, albeit it was only a quick couple of swats. And I should be happy right?

Wrong. I am miserable, my temper is shorter as normal, I am reluctant to engage in any conversations, and to be honest, am walking around as if I have a sore tooth. And to say that Uncle Nick is slowly but surely running out of patience is putting it mildly. He keeps on asking what is wrong; I keep on doing the stupid woman thing of saying: "Nothing". 

Until this morning, I really did not know why I was feeling this way, and there was nothing I could point to, so the "nothing" answer seemed to only logical one. Then it struck me this morning, and I could not actually believe that for two days I have been walking around moping. I am in my own odd way a creature of habit and it has been firmly established that I build up this inner tension that eventually manifests itself, within a two-week period.

There was my answer: I am overdue for a punishment. So, this morning, I told Uncle Nick I finally figured out what was wrong with me. When hearing what I had to say, he just folded me into his arms, and said, "We will sort you out today", and as I am sitting here, I now that in less than an hour, he will be doing just that.

With a cane. For doing this...