I don’t get what’s the big deal about wooden spoons.

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theruleset:

A wooden spoon is THERE.

Just out of reach, something you didn’t even notice. You’re making some smart remark, and suddenly there’s a hand gripped tightly around your arm. You’re surprised! Your stomach drops to the floor as you realize that it’s trouble, and you begin to protest and beg your way out of it.

But it’s not working. Your feet are sliding across the floor as you’re dragged through the kitchen, and that damned wooden spoon you didn’t notice is picked up. You feel pants and underwear dropped around your ankles, and that same rough hand pushing you bent over the kitchen counter.

The first crack is like a lightning bolt in your brain, and you barely react before the second one. That’s when you start to cry out. Your hand reached back to stop it, was it involuntary? A reaction you couldn’t control? It doesn’t matter. Strong and sure hands that aren’t yours pin it uselessly to the small of your back.

The wooden spoon resumes.

You’ll do your best not to forget it’s there next time.

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