Product Review

So, we tried the paddle that Ron so thoughtfully gave me for Christmas. I have one word: Ouch!

Ron: "So, it's pretty good, huh? 

Me: "No!"

That thing hurts, and he wasn't even using much force. It's going into the toy box to replace two paddle ball paddles that have seen better days and have broken handles. The way it works is this. Ron chooses three implements from the wall racks, and I get to choose one from the toy box. Guess who won't be choosing this one any time soon.

If you're interested in experiencing the delights of this bamboo paddle, it's available on Amazon.

Glory to Ukraine

Gentlemen Prefer Wood

A syndicated article in the newspaper began this way:

You can't understand his compulsion for wood and he doesn't get your need for multiple pillows. This type of miscommunication isn't news...

An informative piece on spanking? Not exactly. It was a discussion of men's and women's preferences when it comes to decorating a home. But then again, reading between the lines, it could be directed to those of us who engage in TTWD. Here are a few more quotes from the same story:

Men's attachment to wood is like women's attachment to shoes.

Though there is plenty of room for disagreement, there are also some areas where the genders have discovered common ground.

...while compromise is important to the negotiation process, couples could end up with a mishmash without either one liking the outcome. Instead of compromising, taking turns would be a better modality in this case...

Domestic bliss is guaranteed when you speak a common language--love...

Were you mentally filling in the blanks?

Meet the newest member of the team

Isn't this a beauty? It's a lovely carved wooden paddle, suitable for hanging on the wall in any room when not in use for you-know-what. It's 60 cm (24 inches) long, and the other side is plain and flat. Would you believe I can actually feel the difference between the two sides on my bottom.

Ron and I were in my favourite thrift store recently and as usual, we made a trip down the aisle of wooden items, just in case. I spotted it half-covered by a wooden bulletin board that had a painted duck on top. Bending down, I pulled it out and held it up for my husband's inspection.

"What do you think?" I asked. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

Ron looked a little embarrassed. It was unlikely anyone nearby could guess the purpose we would put it to but he shook his head. "No, put it back. We don't need it."

I obeyed. Temporarily. We didn't need another implement, but I wanted this one. A day or two later when I was out alone, I returned and looked for my treasure. To my great relief, it was still on the shelf. I paid for it - only $3.99 plus tax, such a bargain - and carried it out to the car, wrapped in a plastic bag. I left it in the trunk of the car when I arrived home and waited until the next morning to slip outside while Ron was still asleep and bring our newest acquisition inside. I took a few pictures of it first, then hung it on the implement rack where my husband would see it next time I was due for a spanking.


Sure enough, on our regular date night, I walked into the bedroom and saw it lying on the bed, ready for action. Instead of being annoyed that I had bought it in spite of his order, Ron was pleased. He picked it up.

"Look, I'll have to use two hands," he demonstrated.

I suddenly had second thoughts. "Well, go easy until we find out what it can do."

Rather a lot, as it happened. It packed quite a wallop, made a satisfying sound, and was sturdy enough not to need a lot of force behind it. And it didn't break. We were both impressed.

Tax time is always stressful for us. I choose to put off the inevitable until the last day, but Ron set aside most of last Saturday to do his. Needless to say, he was quite grumpy and out of sorts by the time he was done, and he owed a sizable amount. When it was time for spanking fun, I wasn't sure what to expect.

Our new carved paddle lay on the bed waiting for me. Ron said simply, "taxes" as if that explained everything. I guess it did. Every swat helped him to get his frustration out. As he paddled, he grumbled aloud:

"I hate doing taxes."

"I hate paying taxes."

"Eight hundred and twenty-three dollars!"

"Stupid government."

"Using my money to buy fighter jets."

"Not gonna get it!"

By the time we were done,  I felt well-paddled and Ron felt much better. He even smiled as he put away the implement. I hope I'll feel as cheerful after I do my taxes this Saturday.

Buried Treasure

Lately I've been attempting to declutter our basement storage area. My routine is to deal with one box at a time, examining the contents and sorting the items into keep, toss or give away piles. It's quite a lot of fun actually, opening a dusty cardboard box and discovering long-forgotten treasures. Sometimes I am delighted to discover cherished keepsakes I haven't seen for years; other times I wonder why I bothered to keep them.

Last weekend I chose a box on a lower shelf, opened it, and began to unwrap the articles inside. Among some pottery ornaments that I had created nearly thirty years ago, I found this wooden paddle.

The ornaments were made at a time when we did not have a large assortment of pervertables, so I knew it hadn't been used for spanking. Then I remembered that potters - like spankers - used common household items in their craft. Garlic presses, cheese graters, serrated and paring knives, pastry wheels, and wooden paddles were all useful for creating art out of clay. This paddle had been used to slap the clay to create a flat surface.

At first I didn't recognize it. It came from a time when we didn't use a large assortment of implements, so it wasn't a spanking toy. Because it was stored along with the pottery, I finally remembered that its purpose had been to pat the soft clay and flatten it while creating free form objects. (Potters, like spankers, used common household items in their craft. Garlic presses, cheese graters, serrated and paring knives, pastry wheels, and wooden paddles are all useful for creating art out of clay.) Now it would have a new lease on life. It felt somewhat light, but was wide enough to be worth trying. I dusted it off and put it aside to take upstairs, then finished sorting the contents of the box.


When I appeared in the bedroom for our regular spanking date later that day, I brought my new - or should I say old - toy to Ron for his inspection, and he agreed to add to to the implements he had already chosen: a hairbrush and a beach paddle. Ron and I were pleasantly surprised by its effectiveness. Once I was bent, bare-bottomed, over the bed, he laid the paddle gently against my right cheek, then drew it back and smacked briskly. He repeated the process on my left cheek, taking aim, then attacking. He repeated the one-two move several times, and I was quite happy with his slower, gentler approach. The paddle stung, but not excessively, and made a decent amount of noise, which Ron always enjoys.

The hairbrush and the beach paddle had their turns on my reddened backside, and noise seemed to be the order of the day. The latter makes a huge sound, and Ron didn't hesitate to turn up the volume. But in general, his tempo was slower and more methodical than usual, although when it was the new paddle's turn, he added a few syncopated rhythms for his -and my - entertainment and amusement.

When we were done, Ron tossed the three implements into his toybox, with the potter's paddle on top. I'm glad he thinks it's a keeper. Who knows what other treasures I might find the next time I go exploring in the basement.

Imagine...wood!

Last week was our anniversary, and in true spanko style, I gave Ron the gift that keeps on giving. Two of them, in fact. The first was a hand-crafted wooden flipper

and the second was a rock maple pizza cutter

They both came from Imagine Wood, a Canadian company that creates beautiful and durable kitchen utensils. As you can imagine, Ron was eager to try them out. He immediately bonded with the flipper, but was puzzled about the pizza cutter.

"Which end do I hold?" he asked me, as he turned it over and around in his hands.

"Experiment!" I advised, and he did. As it collided with my bare bottom, I could feel the difference in each individual swat, as he tried first the thin end, then the thick one, then back again.

The flipper was quite a surprise! It smacked loudly against my unprotected posterior, and Ron was able to make it dance rapidly from cheek to cheek.

"I'm going to try to break this on you," Ron announced gleefully.

"You can't. They're unbreakable. Read the instructions." Rock maple is very durable. But that didn't lessen the impact of the blows.

This pair of implements was a perfectly painful sting and thud duo. The sting of the flipper was augmented by the pizza cutter's thud, and he applied them both effectively and efficiently. I voiced my disapproval loudly; too loudly, as it turned out.

"I feel like I'm doing this to music," Ron complained as he paused to exchange implements.

"Huh? What music?" I was glad of the break, but couldn't hear anything except my heavy breathing.

"That noise you're making. 'Oo ee oo ah ah, ting tang walla walla bing bang.'"

I burst out laughing. "Do I really sound like that?" Were the windows open, I wondered. If you are under forty, you may not recognize the reference to a funny song from 1958 called Witch Doctor. If you're really curious and would like to hear it, it's on Youtube too.

I didn't think I sounded like a chipmunk when I was being spanked. Who knew?

The Hourglass

Some time ago, I told you about my desire to use an hourglass to time our spankings. My wish came true last week. (I know you're all saying to yourselves, be careful what you wish for.)

I had been browsing through some shops on my lunch hour, and happened to find a fifteen-minute hourglass, intended as a desk ornament. It was black wood, and the sand was sparkling white. The price was reasonable so I bought it, and started to plan how we would use it.

I still had some time before I had to return to the office, so I continued on to the next shop that looked interesting. Wouldn't you know it? There were hourglasses for sale there too. They were only five-minutes ones, and I didn't think that would allow us to even get started, so I left them on the shelf.

The following Saturday I told Ron that we had a new accessory for our spanking encounter.

"So, how long is it for?" he asked, but I wouldn't say. I didn't want him to worry about the length of time.

"That's for you to find out. Be creative and keep going until the sand runs out."

He chose the bamboo spatula, the belt and the ping pong paddle and got down to business.

The spatula was first, despite my objections. It is so stingy at the best of times, but on an unwarmed-up bottom - yeowch!

The belt came next, but Ron didn't give me much time to savour it before he switched to the ping pong paddle.

"You're using the red side, aren't you?" I thought a little conversation would help the time pass more quickly.

"Right." As Ron rotated through the three implements again and again, I guessed the colour of the side of the paddle he was using. I was usually wrong.

Even though I was becoming numb, the two wooden paddles still elicited shrieks from me. When the belt was applied lower down, to the top of my thighs, I felt that sharply too.

I looked up at the hourglass sitting on top of my dresser. Was it stuck?

"How's this working for you," Ron inquired.

"Oh, fine." Me and my bright ideas.

"Is it 20 minutes?"

"No, 15." No point in concealing the number now.

"You've got five minutes left."

Ron resumed his paddling with renewed energy.

 Suddenly I heard a loud crack and something hit the wooden floor to my right. The bamboo spatula had broken.

Ron was concerned. "Can it be fixed? Glued? It's split here." He showed me where the wood had separated.

"You would have to sand it. I might get splinters."

"It's not worth it then. But it was my favourite." They're all his favourites at the time. Ron put the spatula aside and picked up the belt. I glanced at the clock and did some rapid mental arithmetic. Thirteen minutes had passed. The belt came down hard, once, twice, then Ron stopped.

"There's blood."

"Blood? Really? Where?"

"Right here." Ron touched a spot between my cheeks. "I don't know how I did that but we'd better stop."

Fair enough. Together we watched the last grains of sand trickle down onto the tiny mound in the lower half of the timer.

Two hours later, I checked my bum in the mirror. It was still bright red. I told Ron, and he seemed rather pleased.

"That should do you for three weeks or a month."

I gave him a hug and a big kiss. "I don't think so. I'm so greedy."

Maybe I should go back and buy the five-minute timer. We could always turn it over when the sand ran out.

He Keeps Me Guessing

Sometimes I start to feel that our spankings have become routine and humdrum. It's not that they aren't thorough and ultimately satisfying. But they're usually a bit too predictable.

Last weekend I asked Ron if he had something special planned for our imminent get-together. His answer was disappointing but not unexpected.

"No."

"Oh." I glanced at the clock on the wall behind him. "But you have 15 minutes to think of something to surprise me with."

You'll never guess - he did!

First of all, he included the dressage whip among the implements lined up on the bed. That was a surprise, because he rarely uses it. The wooden paddle and the shoehorn beside it were familiar, but the way he went about his task was quite out of the ordinary.

Ron gave my bare bottom a generous taste of each of the implements, saving the whip as the final entry in the first round, and I remembered why I dreaded the last implement so much. Besides the general severity of the narrow black shaft, the small red-tailed tip wrapped and stung my right hip repeatedly. I was uncomfortable, but silently vowed to endure this special addition.

Round two of the implements followed. After an application of the shoehorn, I heard the whirr of the dressage whip near my head as Ron rapidly swished it back and forth.  I groaned to think that it was next, only to be fooled as I felt - with great relief - the wooden paddle instead. And so it went. Whenever I heard the swoosh, I tensed and moaned, only to feel a completely different implement on my backside.

But he used the dressage whip too. Each time, I made my displeasure known as it marked my bottom, but Ron didn't realize that most of my vocal protests were because of the wrapping.

Our session went on somewhat longer than usual. That was another surprise that pleased me, although it put my obedience to a real test. My right hip was getting more and more painful, but it is a point of honour with me that I do not attempt to change my position or ask that the punishment cease.

It eventually ended, and I enthusiastically thanked Ron for a very exciting time.

"That was a lovely surprise," I gasped. He grinned modestly and put the implements away.

Then I went to the mirror and looked at the results of his efforts. My bottom was dark pink, and the spot where the tip had wrapped looked like it had been attacked by a swarm of angry bees. It was covered with hundreds of tiny raised red dots, each one a souvenir of Ron's attempt to make this spanking special. It was over 24 hours before the skin returned to normal.

I must remember to be careful what I wish for.

Wednesday WIN

These paddles displayed on your living room wall would proudly announce to the world that you enjoy spanking. This wall art measures 3' X 5' (90 cm X 150 cm) and is "inspired by ancient Asian paddles", according to the description on the website. The paddles are encased in glass and framed in wood, so you can't actually use them. Maybe that's a good thing.

Do check out the other kinky wall art available from Structube.

Dagwood Paddled

This is one panel from a recent Blondie comic in the weekend paper. The reason it caught my eye is because way back when, there was a strip in which Dagwood got paddled by Blondie. I'm pretty sure she used this very paddle.

This is probably a sly way for the writer, Dean Young, to refer to the older strip by his father Chic Young. I like to think so, anyway.

Size - It Does Matter

In a recent post, I told you about Ron's new implements and how effective they were on my bottom. But it was hard to judge the size of the weapons from the pictures, and you may have been left with the impression that they were small and unimpressive.

I assembled some implements and photographed them so you could see for yourself that bigger is indeed better.

In this picture, at the bottom is a sixteen-inch wooden ruler. The paddle above it - called "The Wedge" - is the one Ron got for Christmas. Compare its size to the smaller maple paddle at the top, also hand-crafted by the same manufacturer - Littledeer.

(I have a confession. We had both completely forgotten about the smaller paddle until I started preparing for this shoot. It had somehow become buried at the bottom of the implement drawer.  I wonder how that happened.)

We recently used both paddles in a session, and the little one hurts waaay more!

Here we have the same 16 inch ruler, and above it the newest spatula. As you can see, compared to the smaller one above it - which is the size commonly used for cooking - it's a real whopper!

A Christmas Cracker

I haven't told you about my Christmas spanking, have I? Yes, I actually got spanked on the day!

One of the gifts I gave Ron was a package containing several kitchen tools. The first and second were useful for vanilla purposes. This was the third:

"What's this?" Ron asked, as he pulled it from the box. He read the cardboard label. "It's a spatula. A high-heat resistant spatula." Then he looked at me quizzically. "Not for the kitchen, though."

"No, it's not," I grinned, embarrassed but delighted that he understood the implement's real purpose.

Then he rummaged in the box, pulled aside the tissue paper, and extracted the last item.

"And what's this called?"

"A wedge."

"Also not for the kitchen." Ron tapped it against his palm, experimenting with the weight and feel.

"We can try them out later," I hinted, and heard no disagreement.

The rest of the day was spent setting up a new technological gadget. After numerous trips to the computer to read the online help manual or to Google the latest problem, we both needed some stress relief.

Since Christmas fell on our usual day for spanking, when the appointed time rolled around I suggested to Ron that it was time to try out his presents. He muttered something about basting the turkey, but I assured him we would be done before it needed more attention.

So we climbed the stairs to the bedroom, where I obediently lowered my jeans and panties and positioned myself over the end of the bed.

The spatula was an oversized one - much bigger than the usual kind. Splat! It produced a satisfying thud and was just right for a warmup.

The wedge was formidable, though. Also rather large, it packed a real wallop. Ron was impressed.

"I like this.  It bounces right off your butt."

"Oh, good."

Ron happily alternated sets using one, then the other. This was one Christmas I wouldn't forget in a hurry. But alas, all good things must come to an end. We heard the stove timer pinging; the turkey beckoned.

"That's all. You're as red as Rudolph's nose," Ron announced. He opened the implement drawer, added the two latest additions to his arsenal, then came back, put his arms around me and whispered, "Merry Christmas."

A Double-Cheeker

 Lately Ron has been using a new technique. It started with the paddle, called "The Wedge", that I bought him for Christmas. It's big and wide, and he found that he could apply it to both my bottomcheeks simultaneously.

"This one's a double-cheeker," he enthused.

His interest in double-cheeking continued the day I brought out some implements we hadn't used in a while. One of them was the leather belt. That too was applied across my full bottom. Goodness, that man's technique with a belt has improved so much since we started. He never leaves bruises any more, and although he's a wood lover, he really makes it - and me - sing.

His latest double-pronged attack was with the black leather strap. He alternated it with two other implements that were used singly, but each time he applied the strap, it was to both cheeks at once - sometimes across the middle, or a  little higher, or (ouch!) low, just above the tops of my thighs.

What do I think? Well, it all hurts, but I have been used to the left - right - left - right pattern for so long that it took a bit of getting used to. Still, change is always exciting, and I enjoy variety, so I'm all for it.

Which do you prefer? Individual attention to each cheek, or the combined method?

An Impressive Collection

In response to my Mystery Implement post last week, one of my readers suggested it might be a butter paddle, used when making butter by hand. That reader kindly sent me a picture of their collection of antique butter paddles, all currently in use as spanking implements.

Impressive, no? The one on the far left is the twin of mine. I wonder if they feel the same when applied.

Stressed? Who's Stressed?

Like many other people, our lives have a certain amount of stress in them. Lately that level has risen rather dramatically. Ron and I both need to cope with it, but the nurturer in me says that I need to help him manage his stress level as well as my own. So I do all I can to support him and ease his burden. Sometimes that doesn't work too well.

Last weekend we had company. It was pleasant, but was an additional source of tension. In the busyness of having guests, our weekly spanking date was overlooked. I hadn't forgotten about it and I suspect Ron hadn't either. But I didn't say anything because I figured he had enough on his plate and didn't need me making demands on him too.
It might have been better for both of us if I had spoken up. Without my much-needed stress-buster, I wasn't quite so considerate and understanding in the following days, and we both let our stress get the better of us.

Luckily, another weekend rolled around, and I tactfully made sure that Ron had included some plans for spanking among his other activities. We agreed on a time that fit in around the first football game of the season.

Ron had thoughtfully chosen two wooden implements: a light, stingy one and a heavier, thuddy one. He picked up the thuddy one and started off with brisk strokes.

Slow down, take it easy, I screamed silently inside my head. Not wanting to give him any actual direction, I didn't say the words aloud, but I did a fair amount of squealing and dancing that made him switch to the lighter implement. That was much better. Relatively speaking, you understand. It still hurt, but it didn't HURT.

After a bit, Ron changed to the heavier implement, but he could tell I still couldn't take it gracefully, so resumed his attention with Mr Stingy. I settled into the rhythm, although Ron decided to be clever and intersperse the steady swats with periodic rapid-fire bursts aimed directly at my sweet spot.

"You never know when to expect it," he enthused as he delivered a volley of shots and I protested loudly.

All too soon, Ron asked if I had had enough.

"No," I replied. Foolishly? Perhaps. "Go back to the heavy one, but slowly."

Ron proceeded to swat my cheeks with the thuddy paddle; slow, steady whacks that hurt, but not so much. I relaxed and absorbed the impact gratefully. He increased the speed of the swats and they still felt good. I was silent.

"That's enough. Your bum is purple." And it ended.

When I had checked my bottom in the mirror and arranged my clothing, I gave Ron a big hug and told him, "I feel better now." And I did.

The following week was as stressful as the one prior to it, but I felt restored and calm. I was able to get us both through the next seven days with patience, good humour and gentleness. Smiles came readily, and I smoothed over any potentially tense situations. But I think Ron was more relaxed as well. The spanking did him good too, whether he will admit it or not.


Spankings? Keep them coming!

A Cracker of an Anniversary

In preparation for a recent spanking encounter I brought out a few implements that I had collected over time, but had never been tried. These were a pair of wooden salad forks (for tossing salad), a thin belt made of rubber, and a large bamboo spatula. Why was I going to all this trouble? It happened to be the twenty-fourth anniversary of my first spanking from my husband, and I was determined to make it memorable.

Ron's eyes widened as he saw the assortment.

"Where did these come from?"

"They've been hanging on the wall in my sewing room," I explained. "Did you ever wonder why they were there?"

"Guess I didn't think about this," he admitted, then picked up the salad forks.

"These are too small," he pronounced, and put them down again.

"Aw, really? You think so?" I was disappointed. They had looked so very spankish in the housewares shop.

"No, they won't do. And this," Ron picked up the thin rubber belt, "is too floppy. I'll have no control over it."

This wasn't going at all well. "Try it anyway. Look, shorten it up, like this." I showed him. "See, just keep it short and it will work."

I bent over the end of the bed, bare-bottomed and ready. Crack. Crack. Crack. The belt connected three times with a real bite.

"Ow! Ow! OW!" I realized I was getting more than I bargained for, but since I had begged for it, I was determined to settle in and take it. But then it stopped.

"No, it doesn't work," explained Ron. "No control."

I didn't have time to be too upset, because the next thing I knew, the bamboo spatula was connecting with my barely-red bottom in a very effective way.

"Now this is more like it," my husband said enthusiastically. "This is a cracker of a whacker!"

"Ow! Oh, good. I'm glad you...ow...like it." I giggled as I told myself to remember that phrase and write it down as soon as I could, so I could blog about it. And I did.

So after two strikes (so to speak) we had a home run, and the spanking proceeded in grand style. Our anniversary spankabration was everything I could have wished for. When it was over, the belt went into my closet, the salad forks went to the kitchen, but I took a picture of the "cracker of a whacker" then hung it on the wall, where it awaits another adventure. The picture's at the top of this post. Isn't it pretty?

The Proof of the Paddling

When I posted this picture, I was in no condition to elaborate. Now that the glow has passed I thought you might like to know the details about that particular spanking.

The weather wasn't quite as hot as it had been, but even with air conditioning the bedroom was still too warm. We discussed how close we wanted to be to one another, and Ron decided he wanted me bent over the foot of the bed. While I stacked the pillows he opened the implement drawer.

"What would you like?" then he held up the maple paddle. I shivered and nodded. It was one of the ouchier weapons in the arsenal.

"Something else?" Ron looked at me. "Something in leather?" He reached toward the group of leather implements hanging from the bedpost.

"The black one." The long black strap also imparted considerable sting. Black Beauty joined the maple paddle on the bed.

Ron wasn't in a hurry to start spanking. He kissed me gently, then placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed me down onto my knees for a little of what Spanky calls toast buttering. I eagerly complied until Ron pushed me away and helped me to my feet. He picked up the wooden paddle, held it up for me to see, and waved it in the direction of the pillows, gesturing for me to assume the position.

I did so, and felt wood lightly brush my right cheek, then whack! The paddle connected with my bare skin, and a second swat quickly seared my left cheek. The swats continued, alternating left and right, and I squeaked and gasped after each one.

I got a brief moment of relief when Ron paused to stroke my stinging bottom, then returned to paddling. I was getting pretty uncomfortable and was glad of another brief hiatus, until I heard him change implements. It was time for the strap. I was already quite sore, and when the leather connected with my flesh I knew Ron was in one of his no-nonsense moods. During the pauses in between sets, he gently stroked and rubbed my posterior, but made no move to tease my intimate area. He was focused on the job at hand, and was very thorough, making up for the length of time since my last spanking.

At last Ron decided I had had enough.

"Now finish what you started," he ordered, and before I had a chance to rub my sore bottom, I found myself on my knees again, for another round of buttering the toast. After a few minutes of that I was lifted to my feet as my husband had another idea.

"Over the bed. Without the pillows," and with one hand Ron bent me forward while with the other he moved the pillows out of the way. Then he entered me from behind, and we both quickly reached a happy ending, then collapsed on the bed.

After we had recovered somewhat, I kissed Ron and gave him my assessment.

"That was a nine and a half."

"Oh? Why not a ten?"

"Ten was the dressage whip."

"Oh, okay... where did I put that anyway?"

I recalled what had happened the last time he asked me that question, and had to think quickly. Should I tell him, or pretend I didn't know?

"It's behind the door in your study."

Sold!

I recently read an item in a newspaper that began "Earlier this week, _________ raised his auction paddle and held his breath." Up until then I hadn't realized what a great spanko opportunity an auction was.



First, there's selecting the paddle from an assortment of them and trying not to blush.




Imagine sitting next to this person and imagining who will be going over his knee if he doesn't have the winning bid. I wonder where his companion went.




The numbers might refer to the number of whacks you're in for later on.




Maybe the rounded rectangle shape is more to your liking.




So many paddles; so little time!

Salad Days

While browsing in one of my favourite home furnishings stores, I saw this lovely bamboo spanking paddle spatula. It's beautiful to look at, sturdy, and produces a nice sharp noise when... (Yes, I did try it on my palm when I hope no one was looking!)

I was shopping with an older female relative, and while buying the paddle might not have raised any eyebrows, I might have been questioned about why I needed more utensils for the kitchen. So I decided I wouldn't do it, and told myself the usual. Didn't need it. Had enough implements. Too expensive.

The next day, I was driving past the store, alone this time. Well, I wasn't exactly going past it to begin with, but it wasn't too far out of my way. I had a few minutes to spare, so I pulled into the parking lot, headed inside and wandered over to the kitchen department.

No one had bought the lovely paddle. It was still there. I picked it up, stroked it, hefted it for weight, and checked the price tag. It was smooth, solid, a decent weight, and not very pricey after all.

Lying on the shelf above was a pair of bamboo salad tossing implements. Mmmm, just the right size for.... And the wooden fingers would feel so nice....



At that point, my willpower dissolved and I scooped them up as well, then headed purposefully toward the checkout. The next time Ron suggests salad for lunch, we might have quite an adventure!

The Pasta Paddle

Here's the other side of that wicked wooden pasta paddle. (Thank you, Dr. Ken, for providing the perfect name.) As you can see (and click on the image to enlarge it if you can't) the other purpose of the holey horror is to measure uncooked spaghetti. That's why I chose this one. The other one didn't have the measurements printed on it.

Most of you came up with the correct answer. There are a lot of pasta lovers out there! Some of the other guesses were pretty creative:

• candle holder

• tool used to make butter or cheese

• bottom paddler

• male member measurer (!)

• wall decoration

Because I've always been a mouse lover, I want to share Mr. C's response with you.

This is a very close copy of the one found at Quidenham Monastery in Norfolk.
That one was fancier and gilded, but this looks a nice plain example.
This is indeed a pet mouse sizer. If the mouse can pass through the smallest hole then the naughty monk has been underfeeding his furry pet. On the other hand if the mouse cannot pass through the largest hole, it is mousy diet time. The other holes are simply to keep an eye on mouse girth gain, or MGG as it is known.
Ahhh, the joys of monastic mouse keeping.

This implement will be so useful in our kitchen. I usually grab a handful of spaghetti, think it doesn't look like enough, then toss in more. And more. Ron does the same when he cooks. We always end up with leftovers.

Maybe we could start a new ritual for pasta night. I measure the spaghetti and put it in the pot. Then Ron spanks me with the wooden measurer until I think the spaghetti is done. He tosses a strand against the wall, and if it sticks, we eat. If it doesn't, I get paddled for an extra minute or two.

But what if we get carried away and the pasta ends up overcooked?

My Latest Pervertible

Here's my latest treasure from a large thrift store that's right on my way home. There were two, but I didn't want a pair of them--one will be more than enough--so I chose this one. Why? There's a reason, and you'll find out in my next post.

It looks like this paddle might deliver quite a wallop to my backside. But what else can it do? It has a vanilla purpose too, and I think it will come in quite handy, but I'll leave that up to you.

What will is this lovely wooden paddle be used for, besides spanking?

I'll let everyone have time to guess and will then I'll reveal the truth in a day or so.