“Legs, Laura!” said Mum – a clear warning to hold still. I managed this for one solitary whack before they again seemed to dance and flail around, independent of each other. Mum grabbed an errant leg, awkwardly tilting it slightly outwards, and landed three excruciating smacks on my inner thigh. I screamed in shock and pain, raising my torso from the chair, my back no longer pinned down by mum’s hand, which was now holding my leg.
“Laura! Laura!” I was vaguely aware of mum calling my name but was unable to focus on anything other than the furnace raging in my rear end and thighs. “Laura!” she shouted this time, pinching a handful of squishy flesh on the inside of my other thigh and twisting it hard.