50

 

Fifty is a bad number.  Fifty is not fun.  Fifty is unfair.   I do not like fifty.  It seems, well, dramatic.  Or maybe it makes me feel dramatic.  It just seems like a big number   with lots of implications.

No, I am not turning nifty fifty.  Neither is Hoss.  So what does fifty have to do with this post?  Ugh, I know most of you have figured it out by now.

I had fifty coming and Hoss was not going to let me out of it.  We had been sick so this fifty was hanging over my head for several days.  I had given him a few dirty looks, some snide remarks and I'm pretty sure I rolled my eyes when I should have been listening to whatever he was saying.  In other words, my attitude was not what it should have been and he warned me where I was headed.  He felt those responses needed fixing especially when he had given me chances to fix it.  Anyone else know where this is heading?  

He waited until I came to him and let him know I felt well enough to accept my swats.  They were not soft swats, not overly hard.  All were deserved.  I was emotional and tired and yes, I had tears in my eyes.   It hurt even though he gave them in ten swat increments.  

Bertha spoke loud and clear.  Do NOT have an attitude with Hoss.  I got the message.  And now I feel better.  

Hugs and being held.  Sweet reassurance.

No more waiting for fifty.

Just relaxed.  Feeling loved.

Now, how was your weekend?

--Baker