"Its ruined"
"Pardon"
"I said its ruined"
K was holding up a t-shirt, one of those soft stretchy ones with long sleeves that are too long and which sort of flare out all drifty around the hands. I didn't look very soft or stretchy now, stiff as a board would be a better term and stretchy or not it looked like it would be a tight fit on a 6 year old.
"Its ruined."
K's voice was rising to near hysteria in the way only a death in the wardrobe can achieve. I was beginning to get the point.
With us both working we split household chores, we both cook, K changes light bulbs, deals with builders and mechanics, I do my share of the cleaning and shopping - no set rotas, its just whoever has time. Last week our cleaner had some time off and the laundry basket was beginning to back up so I'd run a few loads of washing just to be helpful. I'm good like that. It very much looked as if one of these loads had incurred a casualty.
"Its a T-shirt" I proffered unhelpfully.
" Its Nicole Fahri. It cost £90"
This was not looking good.
"Its still a T-shirt, you've got loads of them"
"It very clearly says HANDWASH ONLY"
"Ridiculous. Its a T-shirt, who hand washes them?."
"People who spend £90 at Nicole Fahri!"
"Well it shouldn't have been in the basket then. How am I supposed to know"
"The basket! You took this from the laundry basket"
"Yup. Right along with loads of others"
"So how come the hand wash bag is empty also?"
OK, so the system is simple, everything dirty goes in the basket except for K's delicate stuff, knickers, silk, cashmere, other handwash or dry clean items which goes into a separate linen bag. She usually empties this, sorts it and makes sure the expensive stuff stays away from the evil expensive lingerie destroying, silk ruining, cashmere shrinking washer and tumble dryer. Except sometimes she stuffs other things in the bag that don't need to be there. This time I'd been really thorough, in addition to the washing, I'd emptied the hand wash, sorted out a pile of dry cleaning and taken it to the cleaners, sorted the delicates for the cleaner to do next week and found three t-shirts that didn't belong there and tossed them back into general population. Except it now seemed on such T-shirt did belong there and the consequences had been disastrous.
It was beginning to dawn on me that my helpfulness as not going to be appreciated and I was likely to be in more hot water than the now shrunk t-shirt.
"Errr ......I emptied it and sorted it for you."
"Throwing my Fahri in with your gym kit tin the process?"
"Its a t-shirt" This was beginning to sound lame, I knew that.
"It was in the delicates bag, IT SAYS HANDWASH ONLY.......and its NOT just a FUCKING T-SHIRT!!!! "
K turned the shrunken shirt inside out and brandished the label at me. Interestingly this hadn't shrunk.
"Arrrrgh.......get up, go to the sofa, pants down and take your belt off."

The sofa in our living room has high rounded padded arms, if you bend over it the padded curve of the arm supports your hips perfectly, my legs dangle behind me, toes not quite touching the floor and my upper body is tilted down into the padded seat, my bottom pushed up high at about 2 o'clock.
The sofa is K's favorite or using the belt. The kitchen table is preferred for the Paddle of Bathbrush, these work best swung roundhouse and being wood don't give on impact so you (well me) need to bent in a position that allows some movement, hence bent over the kitchen table, legs straight, forearms flat on the table, back arched......or just touching my toes in the middle of the room. But the belt works best swung downwards and as it has enough give in, being flexible, K says it needs a position where my hips are supported and can't move. Stretched out on a bed is too flat, K like my bottom lifted, offered up, so after some experimenting around the house the end of the sofa is where I get sent for the belt.
I pulled my belt from the loops of my Jeans, its one of the ones K has bought for me, heavy English Bridle hide, dropped my jeans and bent forward over the armrest, wriggling forward until my feet were up off the floor and my soon to be leathered bottom pushed up. If I was lucky my shorts would stay on, the stretchy cotton was only thin, but every little helps, if I wasn't the heavy leather would scorch my bare bottom.
I laid the folded belt on the armrest beside me, grabbed a scatter cushion to rest my head in and waited.

K left me to sew for several minutes before coming in and taking up the belt.
"I know you were trying to be helpful, and if it had been in basket I wouldn't be doing this. But it wasn't, it was in with the hand wash so I'm going to have to spank you...........I really liked that shirt, I'm just so upset"
K sniffed,............upset, she was upset, I was about to get the belt over fucking Tshirt!!
There was a long pause.
"Right ............listen.........if its in the delicates bag, you need to check the labels OK"
K had clearly taken several deep breaths during the pause. She sounded almost calm now. A few minutes ago she'd been almost hyperventilating.
"OK, I'm sorry.........I was just........it....."
"If you know whats good for you don't say it was just a t-shirt. .......bottom up a bit more, and lose the cushion, if you've got something to say, I want to hear it."
Somewhere behind me there was a woosh as the doubled up belt swooped down. Followed by a loud CRACK, then an equally loud "OOWCH" The last bit was me. Still, my shorts were still on be grateful for small mercies. But there are some things women take personally. A assault on their wardrobes in one of them, so a small mercy it indeed was. My bottom was well roasted and throbbing when K eventually told me I could get up.
I stood up an immediately hitched up my jeans, rubbing my bottom and mumbling apologies at the same time. K stood back and observed, still holding the belt with the look of someone who has not quite finished.
She stretched the doubled belt out to its full length, then began to wind it around her hand leaving a tail of a foot or so hanging loose, which she extended towards me.
"HANDwash only"
Reluctantly I extended my right arm, palm up.
"Keep it out and hold it still until I finish please"
The Strap, which I usually get on my hands is several layers of stitched leather, much heavier than a single belt thickness. Leaving your hand in place after a smack with that is out of the question. K measured her distance, took the belt back behind her ear and brought it down smartly across my palm. The follow through carried it down, round and back up again and then down again in one continuous motion
SMACK.........SMACK........SMACK
I kept my hand out throughout the three as instructed, K's movement was so swift and fluid they seemed to land almost simultaneously. When she stepped back and indicated I could move my hand I shook it vigorously before looking at it, a hot red stripe lay across the palm.
"Other one now,.........."
SMACK.........SMACK........SMACK
"Hold them both out"
Two red palms were extended for inspection. Another round of three on each for an even 6 of the best was entirely on the cards, I was hoping not but resigned to the probability.
"OK, what do you look out for?"
"Handwash only"
"Got it?"
"Got it!"
And indeed I did, ..............get it that is!!.
R