"Now, listen here, sport," my son said as he lifted me in the air, so I was at eye-level, "from now on I'm your dad, and you'll have to do as I say."
"But, son, listen to me," I whined, "it was just a stupid wish. I didn't know that my New Year's wish of wanting less responsibilities would mean we'd change bodies! I want my life back!"
"Now, now, that's enough. You wanted less responsibilities, so that's what you'll have. I'll decide everything for you now, because I'm the dad, and you're just a 7-year-old kid."
"I'm not 7, I'm 32!" I said, violently kicking.
My son became angry. "Hey, you don't kick your dad! That's it, young man. I see I will have to discipline you!"
And before I knew it, he had me bent over his knee and he was giving me an ass-warming. I cried when his hand slapped my buttocks. Afterwards, he put a sobbing me in front of him.
"Now, have we learnt our lesson?"
I nodded while still sobbing and said: "Yes."
"Yes, who?" asked my son.
"Yes, daddy," I sobbed.
"Good boy," he said, "now, go to your room and stay there for an hour to think about what you did. We don't want this to happen again, do we?" he said sternly.I shook my head and went to my son's ... no, MY ... room. Dad was very fair with me, and I shouldn't have kicked him. I already felt sorry for having stood up to my daddy.