In This Corner

Corner time has never been a part of our spanking play, but the other day I started wondering about it. If Ron suddenly told me to go stand in the corner, where would I go? The truth of the matter is, our house has no corners!
Before you ask, we don't live in a teepee, cave or igloo. Ours is a perfectly ordinary house with rectangular rooms. It's simply that none of the rooms have any empty corners. I checked.

The bedroom--where all spankings happen--has two nightstands occupying two of the corners, and a dresser in the third. The only actual vacant corner is formed by the door and the closet. If I were to stand there I would be squashed when the door opened.
Ron's study has its corners filled with bookcases and desks. I suppose I could stand by a bookcase and while away the time glancing through the books I always mean to read but don't have time to. Or over by the computer table there's a sort of corner, but I'd be able to pick up the mouse and check a blog or two.

My room? You couldn't swing a cat in there. Keep looking.

The kitchen is completely occupied with the usual kitchen furnishings and there isn't even an empty wall to get close to. There is a sort of corner at the counter where stove and sink meet. I would be able to empty the toaster crumb tray while there, and the cookie jar is conveniently within reach.

Living and dining rooms similarly have furniture located in all corners. Where else would you put these things? There is one very narrow corner that's sort of free, although I would have to duck under a hanging light and a birdcage and move a heavy objet d'art aside. Tight quarters, though. I don't think Fawkes would be at all pleased.

Now, the basement family room actually holds a possibility. There is one unoccupied corner beside a sliding door to the laundry area, so the squash factor is eliminated. And while I waited I could conveniently fold some laundry if I got bored. Can you tell I don't like to stand around doing nothing?

I don't know, though. If I were sent to that particular corner after a spanking, I would have to walk down two flights of stairs to reach it, and who knows what distractions I might meet along the way. There's a good chance I'd forget where I was going and why, and would have to go all the way back upstairs to figure it out. Then if Ron didn't remember either . . .

Somehow, I don't think corner time would work for us.