The Whacker

We have a crazy dog. She's still a puppy but she also has a very determined personality. She obeys Big Daddy somewhat. With me, she just goes ahead with whatever she wants to do. (The husband says I managed to adopt a dog with my personality.)

So, I started using a whacker. It's a rolled-up newspaper that I usually hit against the counter or some other surface to get her attention. I have whacked her bottom, although not hard enough to stop her. I have multiple whackers in every room.

The other night, the husband and I got into a little tiff. Unfortunately, it was in front of the oldies. I'm not proud of myself but I did tell him to shut up. When he didn't, I announced that I would wait for him to fall asleep and then beat him to a pulp. (I could only do this while he's sleeping; he's twice my size.) When we went to bed that night, he took a whacker with him. He was afraid he might need to defend himself.

We met some friends for dinner last night. We arrived first and had a drink at the bar. The husband was annoying me. I spotted a stack of newspapers behind the bar area so I grabbed one and asked the bartender for a rubber band. She complied. He was laughing at me but by the time our friends arrived, he was back in line. I carried the whacker to our table and I believe everyone used it at least once. Instead of, "please pass the salt," our conversation was, "May I please have the whacker?"

The oldies would never use a whacker. They're too gentile. I think they need to loosen up a bit.

The whacker is my weapon of choice. To paraphrase those old American Express commercials, "Never leave home without it."