Her school had a strict policy that a parent must call the school if a student were to be absent for that day.  Another school policy was that truancy automatically meant a hard paddling in the principal's office, given with a sanded down baseball bat.  Studious and generally well-behaved, Meribeth had never been paddled at school, but her father had cautioned her that if she ever were, she should expect an additional lickin' from him with his belt,  bare bottom, when she got home.

  Despite these perils, as Tuesday morning dawned, Meribeth anxiously slipped on the skimpy, revealing outfit she had bought at a thrift store with her allowance - without her parents' knowledge since they would never have permitted her to set foot outside their home dressed that way - and quickly donned her school uniform on top to conceal it.  Unskilled at lying, she had never before in her life done anything this elaborately deceptive.  After leaving as if for school, she hid in the bushes across the street until both her parents had left for work.  Then, with her heart pounding in her ears, she darted back inside to call in her excuse, praying that she would get away with hanging with the cool crowd at the mall and not have to take both a paddling from her principal and a lickin' from her father that same afternoon.

  "H-hello?" stammered Meribeth when the secretary at school answered the phone.  Her throat was so tight she could hardly speak.  Trying unsuccessfully to sound like her Mom, Meribeth mumbled, "I-I'm calling to report that, um, Meribeth won't be in school today because she's, um, sick."

  "Oh?" replied the secretary, obviously suspicious.  "Who is this?"

  To which frightened Meribeth blurted: 
"This is my mother!"

   The two of them dusted and vacuumed their home from top to bottom, and started preparations for Grandmama's favorite entree for dinner.  Nichole's Daddy took no part in the preparations, though, merely sitting around in his underwear reading the newspaper or watching the game on television, indifferent to his wife's and daughter's feminine bustle.

   While dinner was in the oven Nichole and her mother both washed and shampooed, and Mommy did up Nichole's hair with a pretty ribbon and dressed Nichole in the special occasion frock which Grandmama had bought her last Easter. 

   "For pity's sake, dear, will you get dressed!?" Nichole's Mommy harangued her Daddy.  "Mother will be here any minute now."  He turned off the television and disappeared, grumbling, up the stairs.

   Not long afterwards, Nichole and her parents were waiting in their livingroom when Grandmama arrived at the door.  Nichole, still striving to be on her very very best behavior, dashed to greet her and let her in.  "I hope you stay for more than two days, Grandmama!" chirped Nichole, clapping her little hands together in anticipation.

   "Why do you want me to stay for more than two days, Nichole?" asked Grandmama, with an indulgent smile.

   "Because I want to see Daddy do his trick!" replied Nichole happily, glancing in her father's direction.

   "What 'trick'... is that?" rumbled her puzzled father.

   "YO-OU know, Daddy," gushed Nichole with a bright smile, "Reme-e-mber?  You told Mommy this morning that if Grandmama stays more than two days,
you were gonna climb the walls!!" 

  Her father gave her a ten dollar bill to put into the collection plate at church.  But when the offering plate came around, she just smiled broadly and kept the money gripped in her little gloved hand.  Her father frowned at her severely, but Nichole, eyes bright, just leaned up and whispered very quietly in his ear: "Wait, Daddy. You'll see!"

  After services, Nichole steered her parents up to the front of the sanctuary where a small crowd of elders, deacons, and other church members had gathered around Pastor Swindol, exchanging pleasantries.  After checking to make sure her father was paying attention what a good girl she was about to be, Nichole skipped boldly up to the pastor, dropped a dainty little curtsy, and pressed the ten dollar bill into his hand.  "I want to give this to you, Pastor Swindol, instead of put it in the collection plate!" piped Nichole, smiling warmly up at him.

  Conversations stopped as heads turned in amused curiosity towards the little girl and the pastor.

  "But, why do you want to give this to me, little one?" asked the pastor, gently, as ears tilted to overhear.

  "Because," Nichole replied merrily, turning to smile at her father and then back to the pastor, "My Daddy says, you're the poorest pastor this church has ever had!"

"What are you doing there, Samantha?" asked the apartment manager.

"M-m-my goldfish is dead," stammered Samantha, weepily, "so I had to bury him."

The apartment manager frowned, "That was an awfully big hole for a goldfish, wasn't it?"

Samantha stamped down the last shovelful of earth, fixed the apartment manager with a sullen little pout, and replied, "That's because he's
inside your dumb old CAT!"

"I dropped my toothbrush in the toilet," wept Megan.

After donning latex dish gloves, Megan's mother reached in to the toilet bowl, retrieved the little girl's toothbrush, and quickly deposited it in the waste basket.

Watching her mother's actions with great interest, Megan then picked up her mother's toothbrush and handed it to her mother, saying, "You'd better throw this in the waste basket too, Mommy!
Because I dropped it in the toilet last week!"

   He didn't recognize her but she immediately recognized him as he walked up, jumping to her feet and stammering through her tears, "Good afternoon Mister Goldman sir!"  to the man for whom her Pa worked, who was hence just slightly below God in her childish estimation. 

   "What's your name, little girl? And why are you crying?"

   "My name's Rebecca, sir, but folks all calls me Becky.  Sir, th-that corn just came a-tumblin' out, it weren't nothin' I done wrong, honest, sir, and-"

   "Well," boomed Mr. Goldman, charmed by the little girl's comely features and her impeccably respectful manners, "Becky is a very pretty name.  Pleased to meet you, Becky.  Now you wipe those tears away.  There's no use crying over spilled corn, is there!  Of course it's not your fault.  I should have replaced that bin five years gone." 

"But Mr. Goldman, sir.  My-"

"Don't you worry about a thing, Becky.  I'll get some of the hired hands down here later today and take care of this whole mess.  But first I've got to have some lunch.  I'm starving.  Are you hungry Becky?"  Becky had been brought up never to interrupt her elders, and always to answer a direct question from her elders.

"Well, yes sir.  I reckon I'm at least a little bit hungry pretty near most of the time, sir. And sometimes more than just a little bit.  But-"

"In that case, Becky, I'd like you to ride up to the Big House with me and have lunch with me and the missus.  What do you say?"

"Thank you very much, sir.  But my Pa wouldn't want me to do that."

Becky's hardscrabble, tenant farmer Pa, was not of much account in the world. But whatever respect he didn't get from the rest of  humanity he strove to make up for as much as possible with his young'uns.  Becky and her brothers and sisters addressed their parents as "sir" and "ma'am", did as they were told the first time they were told without complaining, and never dared sass or disrepect their parents to the least degree, or else Pa would haul them straight to the woodshed for a pants-down lickin' with a hickory switch.

"Don't you worry about your Pa, Becky," chimed Mr. Goldman.  "If there's any trouble for you with your Pa, I will take full responsibility."  Becky's mouth began to form the word's "no thank you sir" but before her words had a chance to take voice, Mr. Goldman jovially added, "I insist!"

Becky froze inside.  The most exalted adult she had ever met had just given her a direct order.  All of her upbringing left her with only one permissable response.  "Yes sir." her lips whispered, as if of their own accord.  And as if of their own accord, her legs carried her over to Mr. Goldman's  Volvo and obediently sat her in its passenger seat, despite her inner turmoil.  As Mr. Goldman steered his Volvo back onto the road towards his mansion, Becky looked back anxiously over her shoulder.  "Mr. Goldman, sir, I am mighty appreciative... powerful grateful to for invitin' me to lunch and all.  And I don't mean you no disrespect, honest I don't! But my Pa-"

"Becky, I don't want to hear one more word about your Pa." said Mr. Goldman in a kindly but firm tone.  "You just leave that kind of worrying to me.  Relax and have a good time.  You're a sweet kid and I know my wife is gonna love the heck outa you."

The most powerful adult in the whole valley had just forbidden her to say anything more about her Pa.  Becky responded in the only way she believed she could.  "Yes sir," she murmured, and looked down at her lap, her face still creased with worry.

As they drove up the switchbacks to the head of the valley, Mr. Goldman gradually manage to coax Becky out of her shell, getting her talking about her school, her brothers and sisters, and her interests.  She was awed by the Goldman mansion once they'd arrived, never imagining how big it truly was up close, although she had seen it from afar.  The bathroom where Becky was sent to wash up for lunch, (which was one of several) was bigger than Becky's family's living room and kitchen combined.

   Mrs. Goldman adored Becky, as predicted, and fussed over her at lunch, filling her with more different kinds of unfamiliar delicious food than Becky had ever seen at once.  The Goldmans, charmed by Becky's unfeigned expressions of  childlike wonder and delight at their home, ended up giving her a grand tour of their house and grounds.  But just under the surface, little Becky was fearful and ill at ease, and her anxiety grew and grew as the afternoon wore on.  Finally, when Mrs. Goldman asked Becky what the matter was, Becky burst into tears and sobbed and sobbed in Mrs. Goldman's arms.

When she'd recovered to speak, she said, "I'm plumb grateful to you, Mr. and Mrs. Goldman, for bringin' me here and all.  But I just got to be a-gettin' back. I'm powerful scared 'cuz I'm already in for the most awful lickin' of my life from my P-... from... Oh Mr. Goldman, sir.  Please please just take me on back where you found me!"

"Of course," said Mr. Goldman, kindly.  "I'll bring you straight back there now.  And don't you worry your pretty little head about a lickin'.  I'll just have a few words with your Pa and straighten all that right out for you.  Do you know where your Pa is right now?

"Yes sir. He's back there, sir," replied Becky,
"Under that pile of corn!"
 

She made a beeline for the kitchen, intent on fixing herself a forbidden bowl of cherry vanilla ice cream.  But just as she was taking the box from the freezer, her mother, who had been working the garden out back, abruptly came through the kitchen door.

"Amanda Corrine!  You put that ice cream back this instant!  You know you aren't permitted to have ice cream until after dinner!  Why, I have half a mind to give you a good spanking, you bad girl!"

"Aw Mommeeee," whined Amanda, hoping to engage with the other half of her mother's mind,  "It's so hot outside.  Can't I just-"

"No ice cream before dinner, young lady.  You know the rule!"

"But... can't I just have a little itty bitty bowl of-"

"NO!  And that's final!  This discussion is over.  And if I hear one more word from you about ice cream," Amanda's mother scolded, snatching up a wooden spoon and waving it in front of Amanda's eyes for emphasis, "so help me, I will put you over my knee, bare your little bottom, and SPANK you!  I mean it!  Is that understood?"

"Yes... Mommy," said Amanda, with a sullen pout, and returned the box of ice cream to the freezer.  "Mommy?" she asked, turning from the freezer, with a little elvin grin, "will you play with me?"

"Certainly darling," replied her mother, quietly grateful that Amanda had not crossed the line by mentioning ice cream again, and thus spared Mom the unpleasant but unavoidable necessity of having to actually spank Amanda. 

"Let's play, 'Mommy and Daddy.'" declared Amanda, leading her bemused mother into the living room.  "You be the Mommy, and I'll be the Daddy!"  You have to lie down on the couch while I get ready."

Once her mother was stretched out on the couch, Amanda raided her father's closet and then loudly clomped into the living room wearing one of her father's hats, one of his suit jackets, and a pair of his shoes.  In her deepest, gruffest voice Amanda barked, "Woman!  Get your big fat lazy butt off that sofa and feed your kid some ice cream!