When I was about 12, I remember my brother had his friend round for the day. I always hated this because I was always one for attention-seeking.
That day I was acting up from the word go and I kept on and on giving my brother hell, as well as his friend and most of all my mother; shouting and going off in strops when I couldn’t get my own way.
It was around lunchtime when I asked my mother what was for lunch and she said: “Waffles.”
I burst into hysterical laughter, my mother responding with: “Oh, why don’t you grow up?”
“Because I’m a child, you stupid cow!” I quickly retorted.
My feet hardly touched the ground. As quick as a flash, I was dragged up the stairs to my parents’ bedroom where my mother proceeded to chastise me severely for calling her names, especially in front of visitors.
I then shouted back at her that it was her fault, only to receive a slap round the face and to be pulled straight over to the bed, where I was taken across her knee, my jeans and knickers yanked to my knees and about ten smacks delivered to my bare bottom.
I yelled, kicked and screamed throughout, before being pushed off her knee and told to stand up.
I was told to come downstairs and apologise in front of the guest for what I did. When I refused, I was taken by the arm and marched, tears still streaming down my face and knickers still round my knees, and was told to stand in the corner of the living room where my brother and his friend were until I apologised.
After five minutes, I was so utterly humiliated I really begrudgingly said ‘sorry’. Mother pulled up my knickers and told me to go and stay in my room for a bit. I ran upstairs and burst into tears.
I was never rude to my mother in front of guests again.