I wanted to scream in frustration. I wanted to hit her patronising face. I wanted to demand to know which “crime” I was guilty of, but I knew none of these things would help me. The deck was stacked against me. She was the adult and I was the child. She represented authority and I had to submit. Years of bitter experience with Mum had taught me that any attempt to assert myself or change this dynamic would simply be met with longer and more severe punishment.
Bringing home a punishment exercise would be bad enough but if this woman (‘this bitch‘ I thought silently to myself, blushing inwardly at the naughty word) phoned Mum or sent me to the headmistress, I could only imagine what would happen to my backside when I got home.