Alright—well, most of you probably know by now—James and I are under a TON of stress. We're moving out of our house, doing construction on a condo, keeping the house clean for showing, we have pets, jobs, appointments and he had to go all week to a conference. And we're moving to Albuquerque for the rest of the summer on Friday.

Needless to say, if we lost our minds, I think everyone would sympathize with the situation.

But isn't it funnier that with everything we're up to, none of that stuff made me go so crazy I earned myself a spanking this last Sunday after church? It was a craving. And no—I'm not pregnant. I don't have as good of an excuse. I wasn't even famished—I wanted French toast. I don't know why, but I did. I wanted something bready and eggy, and God help the man who got in my way.

James normally doesn't care—he hasn't regulated my diet since I had foot problems 3 months ago. The night before, in fact, we had a sugar binge while we went to the movie theatre to watch "Year One"—which was horrible, but we had SO many goodies that I slept horribly and I had a headache the next day. Something happens to me the following day after a diet mistake—I deform. My face, for one, deforms into this strange ugliness reminiscent of the woman-villain in the Goonies. I look like half my face caves in.

Luckily, I was able to get a hold of myself for church, and I had pulled back the headache. But, unfortunately, I had already made 3 complaints—one that morning and 2 the night before, that I had WAY too much sugar, and what was I thinking.

So, when I mentioned that I was going to make "French Toast" when I got home, James felt he had to say something. "Remember—you had a LOT of sugar last night, so maybe you shouldn't have anything sugary this morning."

Something dark suddenly swept over me, and my mood did a 180. I was now on the verge, after we were holding hands and kissing each other's cheeks and being nauseating after church, to someone who was contemplating manslaughter. "French Toast doesn't have sugar on it," I reminded scathingly.

"Yeah, but the syrup you'll put on it does."

We're lucky we didn't get in a crash. I almost unleashed my furry by beating him to death. Instead, I screamed,

" BUT I'M HUNGRY, JAMES! I NEED FOOD! I NEED FRENCH TOAST! GET OFF MY CASE! I'M HUNGRY!" In a voice that Satan would have if he got kicked in the nuts; high and ringy with a blanket of evil over it. It scared ME. But I had no control over how it came out.

He only took my hand and held it. It's hard to describe exactly HOW he held it. Firm, I suppose. He held it firmly—almost as if he was firmly saying, "I love you. But get a hold of yourself, woman!" but he didn't. Didn't say anything. Neither did I.

So; it's fair to say that I totally knew I was getting a spanking. I mean, I hoped I wasn't going to get one, but I knew it was coming. When we finally pulled into the driveway, I finally said, "I'm sorry I snapped. I don't know what happened, there."

He sighed. "I know, Honey. It's alright."

But as soon as I walked into the front door and put down my purse, he looked like he was going to go for coffee, but then turned around quickly and took my hand and led me to the bedroom, saying, "Let's just discuss something very quickly."

Yeah, we don't have quick discussions. So, it must be a spanking. I sighed. I was resolved to it. I had suddenly lost my mind. I didn't think a spanking would help my future behavior, however, because I didn't know quite what spurred on the crazy to begin with.

But I had a history. A history of food-crazy. Let me tell you the tale (though quite perverse, I warn you) about how I almost killed my ex fiancé over the left-over brownie batter. This story will make you think less of me, I know, but it's a true story. I like to think I'm a normal person, too—until I think back to this dark, dark time. I had walked in from class, and my ex boyfriend, all 340 pounds of him, was cooking—which was what the man did best. He was excellent at cooking, and I'm still trying to shed off the forty-five pounds I had gained during the course of our relationship. That day, he was making brownies.

Now, I don't even care for brownies. Not as much as the uncooked batter. JP, by ex, didn't believe in eating batter since he had gotten salmonella poisoning when he was a kid from eating batter with a raw egg in it. Such a thing had never, and has never, happened to me, and I hated that he would try to clean the bowl before I had a chance to lick it.

Today, I was PMSing, and as most of you women know, we need chocolate during this time. We will climb a mountain for chocolate. We will fight for it. And so, I begged as hard as I could for the batter, and finally JP made a deal with me.

If I performed oral on him, I could have the bowl.

Oh my God! Are you a chocolate whore?

Yes, I am. I'm not proud of it, but I took his deal, and afterwards, let him have sex with me, even though I made it clear that I was not in the mood. After it was done, needless to say, I felt deserving of the chocolate. However, by the time I was finished getting dressed after the ordeal, I came out into the kitchen and saw the bowl in the sink, with water in it, soaking.

My mouth dropped. "But—my CHOCOLATE!" I gasped.

JP smirked at me and shrugged. "I told you that raw egg's not good for you." I looked at the knives next to me. JP didn't know how close he was to death. Every inch of my being yearned to take one of those knives and stick it into him with all my strength. I was not myself. I was shaking.

As I was trying to fight this powerful will that was trying to put me in prison for the rest of my life, JP suddenly produced a chocolate batter-covered spoon. It saved his life. I calmed down instantly, but I found I was sick. My adrenaline was surging. I was still seeing white. I had very nearly killed him.

So, I wasn't that crazy this last Sunday, obviously—but I do have that sort of potential. My friends used to laugh, "You have such a sweet tooth! I don't know how you're not the size of a hippopotamus." Sweet tooth. Bah. They don't know the half of it. Sweetness is like heroine to me.

Anyway, so I was subjected to this spanking because I was hoping it would harness this crazy food-demon I knew was still living in me, somewhere.

James sat down on the bed and wheeled me in front of him and took my hands in his. "I've been very good about not snapping at you, sweetie, but you need to be more careful about how you say things to me. I know you're craving something, but I only care about your health. I wasn't lecturing you. I just care about you, and I didn't deserve that."

"I'm so sorry…" I repeated, and I did feel bad.

"I know you are, honey," he said sincerely. "This is just going to be a quick reminder to control yourself."

He pulled me across his lap. For some reason, I had an image of those women in vintage-spanking pictures because I had high-heels and a cute skirt on and I looked so house-wife-being-punished-by-her-well-dressed-husband. Until, of course, the spanks started, and then, of course, all I was thinking about was how I could get out of this horrible situation.

I didn't have much will to complain during this spanking. I was thinking of the story I just told you, and I still felt bad over it. Especially the "whoring myself out for chocolate" part that seemed so unlike the strongly Christian woman who I am now, who could be described even has 'prudish'.

Not that the spanking made up for it. Actually, for the grief I was feeling, I felt it was over rather quickly. It was only about twenty spanks long, and James counted them out for me. His hand was firm, but he spanked quickly, not torturing me by dragging it out too long.

I realize how lucky I am. I have a man who understands me now, who doesn't torture me with emotions or compromise my worth, or who I am, even though he knows what my weaknesses are. James is such a strong, nice, very attractive, very successful man that I don't deserve. Especially because, since he still didn't want me to have any sugar, he took me out to buy an egg sandwich that would appease my egg craving while not adding too much sugar to my already bad sugar-hangover headache. That man gets me.

Alright, folks—I'll be the first to admit that I have a problem. I'm obsessive. Once I start something, God help me if I can stop doing it. When it comes to figuring out problems with a webpage, you benefit. When it comes to blog posts, you benefit. When it comes to starting a new book—life is put on hold, the earth stops revolving, and life is just me, with my book. That is really traumatic when it comes to getting hooked on a series. Then it might be days until I come out of my room. Weekend wasted. I normally only read 200 page books that I help Bethany from Bethany's Woodshed publish. Rarely are they ever longer than that. 200 pages I can waist in a couple of hours. THE TWILIGHT SERIES has taken the largest hit on my time since Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

I really, really liked the first three books of the series. I really, really hated the forth book. I would explain why, but you'll start asking yourself when this became a writer's group or a review forum. Simply put: Stephanie Meyer just didn't even TRY on the fourth book! I could go on all day on how—

HEY, HEY, HEY! What does this have to do with Chivalry, for one, and what does this have to do with spanking? Sigh. I'm getting to that. Anyway; the reason WHY I liked the Twilight Series wasn't because I wanted to squeeze Robert Patterson's tush. I think my husband is just as, if not more attractive, anyway, and I can squeeze his tush anytime I wanted. What I liked was Edward Cullen, the main vampire in the novel. What I liked ABOUT Edward was his manners.

That's right—I didn't care about the fact that he can keep a car from running over you, that he has the strength of 1000 men, and that he can carry Bella around as easily as a backpack. I cared about his manners. Edward Cullen is a perfect gentlemen. He engages in Chivalry techniques in manners that they don't even carry out in the South anymore. "Good Manners" I've forgotten about. Edward opens every door for Bella (the human girl), including not just building doors but car doors. Edward sometimes buckles Bella into her seat, pays for meals, walks street-side, carries her bags, pulls out the chair for her, keeps her virginity intact until after marriage not for her own sake, but because he is protective of her virtue… Edward protects her.

…So? Let's tie this in with spanking this year, shall we?

Grr. Edward PROTECTS HER! Which is amazingly hot to watch and to read, and I think that has something to do with why it's such a popular book.

Edward's not always NICE about it, though. Edward's always guiding her by the arm, forbidding her to do things that are dangerous, constantly scolding her, he forces her to do safe things…. I was REALLY hoping Edward would spank Bella sometime during one of the novels. Of course, it never happened. I knew it wouldn't. But I hoped it would. Because Edward was exerting the personality type that WOULD spank. He's MUCH older than Bella—by nearly 100 years, so he's certainly more world-wise and mature, he's strong as can be, he's very capable, very disciplined, educated, non-hypocritical, understanding, and he's gorgeous. So… Chivalry=good spanker? I'm not saying that, but I certainly think it's a vital characteristic of a HOH. Chivalry says one very important thing about a man (I've said something like this before, but let's recap):

1. He understands that woman and men are different and he wants to take care of the woman. They normally think women are fragile, which we technically are: due to lesser physical capabilities and hormones that are beyond our control, we are emotionally and physically weaker than a man. Our sense of safety is fragile, and our feelings are even moreso. This type of guy doesn't want women to feel any sort of pain whatsoever.
2. He feels "dutiful": it's his duty and or privilege to cater to a woman.
3. The center of the universe CERTAINLY doesn't revolve around him. That much, he is sure.

So, do you have to wait for a vampire to fall in love with you before you can get some chivalry?

No, not exactly. Supposedly, you can find a guy that has it. I don't know if you can find one that has as much as Edward Cullen, of course, but definitely some variations. The thing is, not that many men are chivalrous gentlemen anymore. It's the Twenty-first century.

What does the century have to do with it?

A lot, actually. Mostly because we've been ripping chivalry out of men since women's liberation in the 1920s. That's 90 years of telling men that we don't need their chivalry—that we're not fragile, and we're not different, and we can open our own doors, thank you very much.

Here's the article I read that just made my stomach roll from Marie Claire (Click here to view the original article):

Is Chivalry A Dying Art?

June 5, 2009 10:20 AM by Rich Santos One of my vivid childhood memories took place on a soccer field. When I was four or so, the soccer leagues were co-ed. In those days there was no method to the madness for us fledgling players. The ball would move and we'd all follow it in a gigantic swarm rivaling biblical locusts, with no organization or strategy to score a goal. In one game, as we followed the ball after it popped out of the mob, I noticed a little girl trailing behind us and saw that she had fallen down in the mud. I was faced with a choice: follow the ball toward our goal, or turn around and help the girl. No one had stopped to help her up, or acknowledge that she had fallen down. Furthermore, something about the mud all over her (even in her blonde hair), the fact that she was alone and she could have been hurt, compelled me to turn around and check on her. On the sideline my coach implored me to worry about the girls later. The ball, by now, was way down near our goal. It was just the little girl and I on the other end of the field. I walked back to her and stuck out my hand and helped her out of the mud. I must have embarrassed her because her appreciative look was laced with a bit of defiance. This was my first conflicted moment with chivalry. I learned that she was perfectly capable of picking herself up out of the mud (thank you very much). These days, I rarely get to be chivalrous. I am desperately trying to be "cool,"-- not too easy or too nice. Plus, I don't think I am well-trained for chivalry. One time, my Southern friend Margaret complimented me for "walking street-side," on our way home from work. She explained that men traditionally walk street side in case a "passing buggy splashes water onto the sidewalk." Chivalry in the South is taken to a whole other level. I hate those street solicitors who ask me to donate to cause A, B, or C as I try to avoid them on the sidewalk. They punctuate it with a 10-minute spiel. As soon as I see someone with a clipboard, or a branded shirt, I zig-zag out of there. Little did Margaret know that I had gone "street-side" that day to put her in the line of fire of a street solicitor. Hey, when it comes to street solicitors it's every man (and woman) for themselves. Horses and buggies aside, there are plenty of chances to be chivalrous on dates in NYC:

• Letting a woman on the elevator first
• Pulling out a chair at a restaurant
• Paying the bill
• Walking someone home
• Letting a woman in a cab first after opening the door

But there are reasons that guys avoid chivalry: Don't Want To Look Too Nice. Guys are trying to find that sweet spot of nice but not too nice, while retaining little mystery. If we go out of our way all the time and wait on a girl hand and foot, we won't look attractive. Chivalry is great, but it's not special if it happens all the time. Women's Rights. After her man holds the door and picks up her bags one too many times, a woman might be inclined to say: "hey I can do this myself." Doing too much for a woman can come off as condescending. Don't Raise 'Em Like They Used To. Are younger men on board with chivalry? Because of society's shifting values, chivalry could be dying. You may see less of it in the street these days because there is less focus on educating young men about chivalry. I practice "part-time chivalry." I'm much more of a gentleman at a fancy event like a wedding than I am when I am tumbling into a diner late night drunk at 4AM. But I wonder if I should be chivalrous the majority of the time. I remember the warm fuzzy feeling I had when I helped the girl on the soccer field. I felt like I was doing the right thing. Things were much simpler then, but I bet most women want some chivalry in her life. I'm just not sure how much chivalry is optimal. How much chivalry do you like in a relationship? Are there certain chivalrous acts that you really love, or that turn you off? Is there any charm to a guy that doesn't practice chivalry? Do you see much chivalry out there these days, or do you agree that it's a dying art?

You can see where I'm disturbed. Have half the woman really done it in for the rest of us? Did the women who never say "thank you", never appreciate an open door, never smile at someone who helps them up when they fall… Did they ruin it for the rest of us? I'm not a mom yet or anything, but I want that for my daughter! I hate to think that it'll be long dead by that time. Anyway, if you don't think this matters and that chivalry is dead, then let me tell you what's going to die right along with it. DD RELATIONSHIPS! That's right…. I said it. Because an HOH that has absolutely NO concept of chivalry is not doing to be a good HOH. He wouldn't have the right temperament. That's a fact. WAIT—Women can destroy not just chivalry, but DD? But HOW? How did WOMEN DESTROY CHIVALRY in the first place?

As the article stated—he was going to help a girl out of the mud, and she acted indignant and embarrassed. Admittedly, I would be embarrassed too, but you have to be grateful. Women aren't grateful anymore. I don't blame men for not being chivalrous anymore. Why would they be chivalrous if they get nothing in return? Why go through the trouble, and let me assure you—it IS trouble for them. They weren't put on the planet to help us out; that's a duty they've taken upon themselves. It's a choice.

So, here's what you do if you want to reverse the cycle. I'm sure you're all very intelligent people, and that I'm preaching to the choir, but this is what you do:

1. Make eye contact, smile thank anyone who does ANYTHING nice to you. Eye contact is key. They equate it to recognition, and it must ALWAYS come with a smile and a thanks. The "thanks" MUST sound sincere, as if it was such a sweet surprise to find someone that kind. Here's the key:
   1. Even if you don't want to date, or even think the person doing it is ATTRACTIVE—if they look like FRANKENSTEIN, you still do thank them? Why? Because they're being kind to you, and you must acknowledge and also because you want the men in the area to see the recognition you're giving to the chivalrous one.
2. ALWAYS compliment. If a man walks you home, all you have to do is THANK him and say, "that is just so nice of you". That's all. They'll feel good about themselves all day. Eye contact. Smile. If someone even OFFERS to do something for them, thank them, and tell them how wonderfully nice they are.
3. Teach your sons that women need special care, and to always have good manners DISPITE the feedback they get.

Yep. That's all you can do. It's not much. It's quick. 2 seconds and then, of course, pass it on to the next generation. But so little you do makes the largest differences. We have so much to make up for. We have to retrain 3 billion men in this world. We have our work cut out for us!