Dinner and a Spanking Side Dish?

We were making dinner last night and I was looking for the little glass carafe dressing bottle thing so I could make dressing for the pasta salad. As it is not something we use often (and haven't used it at all this winter) it's in the odd cabinet in the corner of the kitchen where we stick the things we barely use. The cabinet does this weird thing where it is the size of a regular cabinet when you look at the doors, but inside it veers to the left and has this huge deep space where things get lost because i can't reach.

Anyway, this is normally where we keep the dressing bottle, so I stretched up on my tip toes and reached into the cabinet but couldn't quite feel it. I knew it was there. I had a distinct memory of going in that cabinet during our St. Patrick's Day Party and knocking it over. Because I even thought, "Shit, I am never going to find this thing now."

I am grunting and making frustrated noises. Mr. McKay comes in the kitchen. "Do you need help?"

Does it look like I need help? Yes, use your tallness to make this problem go away.

He proceeds to pull a forgotten travel mug, a glass shaker for parmesan pizza cheese, and a random salt shaker out of the cabinet. He reaches back in and feels around. "It's empty."

"No! It's up there, I know that's where it is."

He turns to me and shrugs.

I have reached my boiling point. I am starving, it's getting late, and all I want to do is mix this little packet with some vinegar and oil and make my dressing so I can eat dinner already! "Get out of my way, I'll find it." I give him my best 'thanks for nothing' tone because it is obviously his fault that he cannot produce this random kitchen item. I push a chair over and climb up. Then I teeter to the side as I still have to lean over the counter and stretch to reach into the cabinet.

I feel his hands on my hips, "Don't fall," he warns me.

I give him a frustrated sigh and he can't see my eye roll. Although with the amount of times I have fallen and hit my head in this house, I really don't blame him for thinking this might end poorly.

I continue groping into the vast darkness of the cabinet while he needlessly steadies my hips.

"Um, Bear?" he says. He calls me bear at specific times. It comes out in the tone of something from Winnie the Pooh (Silly old bear). But it is always good natured and usually followed by a chuckle if I am doing something ridiculous or by kisses and cuddles if it's because I am whiny.  So I take it as a good sign that he has not taken the bait and followed me into my foul mood as my claws have certainly come out.

I stop reaching and stand straighter on the chair so I can look back at him. "What?"

"Did you look on the counter?"

The counter under this waste of space cabinet is also a waste of space. It's jammed into the corner of the kitchen, but it's useless as you can't use it in food prep or anything, because you can't reach it. The coffee maker is shoved over that way as is our spice rack. We also have an assortment of teas and sometimes the stray tupperware if Mr. McKay has done the dishes and decided he doesn't know where to put it away, it ends up in the Bermuda Triangle of counter space. 

And there, sitting on the counter, in plain view is the stupid dressing carafe. I must have knocked it over and then pulled it out of the cabinet during our party, which means it has been sitting there for close to a month, and I never noticed. I'm a little embarrassed that I have been throwing a fit for the last five minutes and the solution to my problem was sitting in plain view.

I turn to start getting down off the chair, but the hands on my hips keep me in place. "Stay there, don't move," he directs.

"Why?" The word is barely out of my mouth before he starts spanking me. Hard. I giggle anyway, because I am standing in the kitchen on a chair and this has to be the most ridiculous scene ever.

Every spank hits the lower portion of my ass, right on my sit spot and the sting feels intense. "Oh, I like this," he narrates. "With you up so high, I can really get an upswing."

I guess I should just be thankful he didn't grab any kitchen implements that were at the ready. His hand seemed hard enough!

I was sent out of the kitchen with a stinging ass as Mr. McKay took over the rest of dinner prep. He wisely knew that one more set back and I would have ended up in flames or breaking something.