Don't Feel Like Spanking

This week I got an email with the subject line "Holiday stress reduction" and opened it eagerly. That's what I need all right! Sadly, it wasn't about spanking at all.
We've both been feeling kind of grumpy and out of sorts this week. Ron was preoccupied with his concerns, I had my own stress, and we hadn't been laughing or even talking much. We just weren't connecting. One evening Ron actually apologized for being so uncommunicative. I thought a minute, then listed six different things that I knew were bothering him. Once I reassured him that he had every right to be unhappy, he cheered up and we had a reasonably pleasant evening.
I later took the opportunity to think about why I wasn't behaving much better, and came up with my own list of six concerns. The one we both had in common was the upcoming holiday season. (Our pre-holiday stress started in mid-August this year.) No wonder I hadn't been looking forward to my next spanking. That was okay, though. I gave myself permission to not feel like it, and you know what? I started to feel a bit better.
This morning, I was determined to enjoy the weekend, but still didn't feel like playing. We made our weekly trip to the supermarket, and as we walked past the shelves stacked with cereal, I missed the usual feeling of anticipation that I usually enjoyed as we walked along the familiar aisles. By the time we got to the soup and canned vegetables, spanking was much more on my mind. When we finally came to the laundry detergents and floor cleaners, I was definitely feeling that tingle of arousal. Routine is a wonderful thing.
We spent a pleasant afternoon outdoors working in the garden. The weather was cool but the sun was shining, and by the time we finished we were cold, tired, and happy. As we started fixing dinner I smiled at Ron and he smiled back.
"I need a hug," I said, and Ron put his strong arms around me and held me tightly. I hugged him back, then reached behind me, took hold of his wrists, and moved his hands lower down.
"That's more like it," I murmured as he cupped my bottom cheeks, squeezed them, then gently patted them. I thought about the next day, when those hands would not be patting gently at all.
As I write this, there are only . . . let me see . . . twenty-two hours to go until I get spanked. I can't wait!