Riding Crop Fight
If this were a shaggy dog story, it would start: “So these two SCAdians walk into a leather merchant’s shop…”
Well, they do. And they buy a pair of cheap riding crops. Marital hilarity ensues.
Anyway, we got them for a buck each, and were happy they had been so cheap. Maddie was *so* excited, she began slapping almost anything within reach with hers. I, being a model of virtue and temperance, did no such thing, and saved it for later use in the list.
On the way home, however, things took an unforseen turn (although it shouldn’t have been unforseen….).
Maddie readily admits that she is the likely culprit for the role of instigator (any memories I had of conversations to the contrary, closer to these events, are surely mistaken…). She began slapping me in the arm and leg as I was driving. Of course, both of us were still in garb, and had our crops in our belts, so the weapons were still close at hand. I defended myself as best I could.
I need to explain that Maddie has two simple rules for these fights, should you take a shot that hurts: You’re a pu$$y if you look at it, and you’re a pu$$y if you rub it. Only the head was off-target.
There was NO holding back. These blows were *whistling*. They were little riding crops, and we could generate some serious velocity, even in the close quarters of a van’s front passenger cabin. They were going, ‘whoo – THWACK’! with each blow. Especially if you snapped it a little at the end. We even found we could get little combos going – bicep/thigh, hand/forearm, etc. And of course, were laughing like a couple of loons the entire time.
So there we were, going 70 down the highway, flailing away at each other. Both of us were too stubborn to admit that any of the blows *might* have hurt, and to either look at it or rub it was to concede defeat. So we kept upping the calibration. Two stubborn, competitive people with riding crops make a bad combination.
We finally ‘negotiated’ a cease-fire, and of course neither side was willing to admit defeat, so we both could claim victory, or at least a tie.
After we got home. we found we were *covered* in welts.
It doesn’t matter how you do it, as long as you and your spouse spend quality time together. Ahh, mawwige….
70 MPH? Ulp! Kiddies, don’t try this at home! Closed track, professional drivers only.
