I’ve been sentenced to a birching on Sunday, and this has been in my thoughts a lot this week.
I’m going to be a juvenile delinquent who had already had a court-ordered birching, and has now been caught for a second offence and sent to a reformatory. A 36-stroke birching is bundled into the sentence – twice what the girl got last time.
It is also, incidentally, twice the biggest number of strokes of the birch I’ve ever had. Abel mentioned something about fifty when we were first discussing the Sunday girl’s fate, but I chickened out of getting that many. Considering that 12 with the birch normally leaves me in tears, I think 36 will be plenty.
I would be more likely to want to step to the edge if I could count on screaming my head off to ease the pain, but even though our walls are thick and the neighbour is deaf(ish), there are limits to how loudly I can yell. Nothing like practical matters to limit your scene-playing…
The reason I’m fretting about this is that until the time of the punishment, Abel is actually away. It’s going to be up for me to choose and soak the birch, clear the space in the spare room, set up the school desk that serves as a whipping bench. It seems like a particularly cruel part of the ritual. I have mentally walked through it about three times today while I was on the bus into town.
I’m kinda concerned about that number of strokes… Not concerned enough to not do it, but just enough to worry and fidget days in advance.
Do you suppose this was Abel’s idea in sentencing me in the first place?
Yikes! No wonder it’s been on your mind all week! Yes, I am quite certain Abel intended you to be concerned for several days in advance. It’s all part of the plan. You’ll be a quivering mass by Sunday.
Good luck. And please do let us know all the details.
Well as silly as it might sound to some, I rather think it is the little present to you that Abel is bringing home. He would have brought perfume if you’d ask, but oh no, you went with a birching!!
Ooooh Haron, this post made me all goosebumpy! There is nothing I find more tingly and more tummy turning than the anticipation of something I know I want but that I’m trepidatious (is that a word?) of too… and Sunday is still soooooooooo far away, if it was me I’d be a complete jelly by then!
36 strokes of the birch is a heck of a lot… I’ve been there or thereabouts and crying doesn’t begin to cover the howling mess I was by the end
**don’t suppose that helps much does it?! Sorry!**
Wouldn’t have missed the occasion for a million pounds though
Ah, brings back happy memories of the Easter reformatory! Only I am safely in the south this time, so the strokes are all yours Haron 😉 Good luck hon, I hope Abel ties you tightly….
(Oh yes, and please do tell us how you get on, we’ll be burning with curiosity! Not burning like you will be though!)