The only place I ever went to for sleepovers was with my best friend Hannah and her parents.
Our parents were good friends and since we spent so much time at each other’s houses, our parents soon gave the others permission to spank their child if we misbehaved.
My father had gotten some tickets for a nearby safari park, where we could drive around in our own car looking at all the animals. (short pause) That morning, Hannah and I could barely contain our excitement. We pressed our faces to the car windows as we entered the park, clutching our little notebooks, determined to spot every animal on the map.
The first thing we saw were the giraffes, their long necks stretching above the treetops as they nibbled leaves. We squealed and pointed, convinced they were looking right at us. Next came the zebras, their stripes almost hypnotic as they grazed in the tall grass. We argued over which one was the “leader” of the herd, giggling as one of them flicked its tail at another.
The real thrill came when we entered the lion enclosure. The car windows were up, but we still held our breath as a huge lioness strolled right past us, her golden eyes glancing our way. Hannah pretended to roar, making us both burst into nervous laughter. My dad joked that we’d better not drop any snacks, or the lions might want to join us for lunch.
We saw monkeys swinging from branches, one of them even landing on a car ahead of us and peering in through the sunroof. Hannah and I shrieked with laughter, imagining what would happen if a monkey tried to steal my dad’s hat. There were elephants too, lumbering slowly and flapping their ears, and we watched in awe as one sprayed water over its back with its trunk.
The whole drive was filled with shouts of “Look over there!” and “Did you see that?” We took turns using my dad’s old binoculars, and every time we spotted something new, we’d scribble it down in our notebooks, determined not to miss a single animal. (short pause) It felt like we were explorers on a grand adventure, and for a while, nothing else in the world mattered.
By the end of the day, we were tired but still buzzing with excitement, replaying our favorite moments and making up stories about the animals we’d seen. It was a great day, and we behaved for most of the time. There were no major problems – but with kids, things can change really quickly.
On the way back from the park, as we were still chattering about all the animals, Mother turned around in her seat and told us both, “Girls, by the time we get home, it’s going to be close to bedtime. There won’t be time for any more playing tonight.”
The moment those words left her mouth, all the happiness from the day seemed to vanish. I completely forgot how well we’d been treated and how much fun we’d had. Right there in the back seat of Father’s car, I started to wail and kick, tears streaming down my face. Hannah joined in too, but it was mostly me making the biggest fuss—crying, shouting, and insisting it wasn’t fair.
We both threw a full-on tantrum, but I was the ringleader, making the car echo with my complaints. I didn’t care that we’d just had an amazing day; all I could think about was not getting my way. My mother and father tried to reason gently with us but it did no good.
That’s when Mother’s patience snapped. She turned around, her face flushed with anger, and said, “I cannot believe how ungrateful you two are being after such a lovely day out. We took you to the safari park, you saw all those animals, and this is how you thank us?” (pause) Her voice was sharper than I’d ever heard it.
She warned us, “If you don’t stop this tantrum right now, both of you will be getting the slipper before bedtime.” (pause) The mention of the slipper made Hannah go silent immediately. She nudged me, wide-eyed, hoping I’d take the hint and quiet down too.
But I was too far gone in my stroppy mood. I kept crying and complaining, ignoring Hannah’s desperate looks. My mother’s anger only grew, her eyes narrowing as she watched me carry on.
Finally, Mother said in no uncertain terms, “That’s it. You are both getting the slipper before bed. No more arguments.” (pause) There was no mistaking her tone—she meant every word.
Needless to say, this took the wind out of our sails immediately. We calmed down and tried to say sorry, in order to get out of the punishment. But Mother stood her ground – our bottoms were getting spanked, and that was that.
After we got home, Mother wasted no time. She fetched her old, sturdy brown slipper—the one she always kept by the door—and sat us both down in our pyjamas.
Then came the lecture, and it was one I’ll never forget. Mother stood in front of us, slipper in hand, her face still flushed with frustration. She waved the slipper in the air for emphasis, her voice stern and unwavering. “I am so disappointed in both of you,” she began, her eyes fixed on us. “After everything we did today, after all the fun and treats, you chose to throw a tantrum the moment you didn’t get your way.” (pause) She pointed the slipper at us, her tone growing sharper. “You were given a wonderful day out, and instead of being grateful, you acted as if nothing was ever enough. That is not how you show thanks to people who care about you.” (pause) She paced in front of us, the slipper tapping against her palm, her words sinking in with every step. “You embarrassed yourselves, and you embarrassed me. I want you to remember this: being thankful is not just about saying ‘thank you’ when you get what you want. It’s about appreciating what you have, even when things don’t go your way.” (pause) She stopped and looked us both in the eye, her voice softening just a little, but still firm. “I love you both, but I will not tolerate this kind of behavior. If you want to be treated with kindness, you must show kindness and gratitude in return.” (pause) The room was silent except for the sound of the slipper tapping in her hand. Hannah and I sat frozen, the weight of her words pressing down on us. It was clear this was not just about a missed playtime—this was about respect, and about learning a lesson we would not soon forget.
Then came the moment we’d both been dreading. Mother stood tall, slipper in hand, and called Hannah first. “Hannah, come here,” she said, her voice steady but not unkind. Hannah’s face went pale, and she shuffled forward, her hands trembling as she stood in front of Mother. The anticipation in the room was thick—you could almost hear our hearts pounding. Mother gently but firmly guided Hannah over her lap, adjusting her so that her pyjama bottoms were stretched tight. “This is for your own good,” Mother said quietly, and then, with a swift motion, she brought the slipper down with a sharp smack. The sound was loud in the stillness, a crisp slap that made me flinch even though I wasn’t the one being spanked. Hannah gasped, her body tensing, but she didn’t cry out. Mother delivered five more smacks, each one measured and deliberate, the slipper connecting with a sting that left no doubt about her seriousness. With each smack, Hannah’s breath hitched, and by the last one, her eyes were brimming with tears. When it was over, Mother helped her up and said softly, “I hope you remember this next time.” Hannah nodded, wiping her eyes, and hurried back to her spot, rubbing her bottom and sniffling quietly.
Now it was my turn. My stomach twisted with dread as Mother called my name. I walked over, feeling the heat of embarrassment and fear rising in my cheeks. Mother looked at me, her expression stern but not without a trace of sympathy. “You know why this is happening,” she said, and I nodded, unable to meet her eyes. She guided me over her lap, and I could feel the cool fabric of her skirt against my skin. The slipper hovered for a moment, and then—smack!—the first blow landed, sending a jolt of pain through me. The sound echoed in my ears, and I bit my lip, determined not to cry out. Each smack stung more than the last, the slipper leaving a burning sensation that made my eyes water. By the fourth smack, I couldn’t hold back a small yelp, and by the sixth, tears were streaming down my face. Mother’s grip was firm but not cruel, and after the last smack, she let me up and looked me in the eye. “I hope you’ve learned something tonight,” she said, her voice softer now. I nodded, sniffling, and hurried back to sit beside Hannah, both of us nursing our sore bottoms and our wounded pride.
The room was heavy with the aftermath—quiet except for our sniffles and the faint sound of the slipper being set down. The air felt thick with the lesson we’d just learned, and even though it hurt, both physically and emotionally, I knew Mother’s words and actions came from a place of love and a desire to teach us right from wrong.
Afterward, we were sent straight to bed, both of us much quieter and thinking hard about what Mother had said.
With both of us now nursing a sore bottom, Mother kissed us good night.
