Thursday, January 30, 2014

How We Negotiate

A while back, Husband and I made a deal to get me motivated to exercise more.
I wrote about it here. 
The deal was, I would get on the treadmill for half an hour, five times a week, and for every minute I skipped, he would get to beat my butt.
When I said "motivated," I meant "tormented."
(No this is not me)
Since then, I have stuck to the deal, with some adjustments. I've been getting on the treadmill five times a week; sometimes I have to skip a weeknight, due to some prior obligation, but I make up for it on the weekends, and that's okay. He also lets me accrue time, so that if I do two nights of 45 minutes, I'm able to skip the next when I'm too tired.
We've altered the deal through negotiation, but I've not broken it. Not once.
Not until now.
Like I wrote in the last post, Husband is away on business travel until the end of this week. He travels fairly often, and I'm used to it. I don't enjoy it (I miss him terribly), but I know the routine and how to handle things. I thought it would be fine.
Until right before he left. His last hour at home. We were sitting at the kitchen table, and he casually let me know he expects me to still get on the treadmill every day while he's gone.
I was not allowed to skip days. I was not allowed to accrue time. I had to do at least half an hour, every day.

Last week was fine. The kids were off for Thanksgiving break, so we didn't have to rush to be anywhere, and most places were closed, anyway. I put on a movie in the family room, gave each one of them their own bowl of popcorn, and that was it. Half an hour later, they were still exactly where I left them, munching away.
Monday was more difficult. I had errands to run, chores to do. The kids came home from school, and they needed my attention. It was already a fight who would get to talk to me first. Disappearing for half an hour and making myself completely unavailable was out of the question.
I skipped the treadmill.
Tuesday I wasn't too worried about it. "If I do 45 minutes today and 45 minutes tomorrow, he'll probably let it slide," I thought.
Then the day got away from me. I had a PTA emergency, a friend who needed a shoulder to cry on for over an hour...and then the kids came home, and all hell broke loose. By the time 8:00 rolled around, I knew the treadmill and I would not be making our date.
And then Husband called.
Caught with my pants down!
(No this is not me either)
I don't know how that man always knows what's going on with me, but he does. It's like he has ESP powers over me. His secret Husband senses were telling him there was a disturbance in our D/s force.
Not me.
We talked about mundane things for a few minutes, how the kids were doing, how much we missed each other, that kind of thing...and then he asked the question.
"So. Have you been going on the treadmill?"
"Um. Um."
"I take that as a no." The smug satisfaction was thick in his voice, like I as just confirming something he already knew.
"I did! Kinda! I did over the weekend! Just not yesterday. Or today."
"I see." There was a heavy pause. "You'll be getting the horseradish on Saturday."
That was it. No words of disappointment, no reprimand. Just a proclamation of punishment.
I suddenly wanted to cry.
"Shall I get it for you?" I thought maybe my offer would appease him somewhat. Also, it would give me the chance to pick the root myself.
"No. I'll go and get it when I get back. That's my job."
Now the censure was clear. I will do my job, you should have taken care to do yours was the message.
The conversation moved on, the kids took turns talking to him, and we all hung up.

About half an hour later, he calls again.
"I've been thinking. You said you missed yesterday, and today?"
"That's two days. You should get the horseradish for two nights."
"Now hold on here," I said. "The task was to get on the treadmill. I failed in my task, so that's one punishment."
"But the task was to get on each day," he replied. "You missed two days, so that's two punishments."
"No, no. No no no. The job was divided up between days, but still one job. It counts as one."
He thought about it.
"I'll let you get away with one punishment...but I'll use two roots. One in your ass and one in your pussy."
"Unless you want me to try to fit two roots in your ass? That might be too much, even for you."
"I think this is fair. One punishment, two roots. We'll see where they fit on Saturday."
And while I sat there with the phone to my ear, struck speechless, breath frozen in my chest, he said his goodbyes and hung up.

This is how we negotiate.
Saturday is going to be an interesting day.

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