January 25th is Robbie Burns Day and our small branch of clan Campbell is ready. At sunset we will don our traditional clothes, a kilt for him, a red velvet gown for me. We’ll pour a dram of scotch each, take our dinner from the oven, and settle on the sofa in the living room. Gavin will put a match to the fire and we’ll read Burns’ poetry to each other while bathing in the warmth from the hearth. We will attempt to read the Scottish versions and one of us will fail miserably.
No haggis will be served.
It will be an evening of laughter and dreaming. The entire time I will be mindful of the thick leather belt that runs around the top of my handsome husband’s kilt. He has never used it on me but there have been close calls. It creates a nice level of tension between us and whenever he brings it out, I straighten to attention.
I’m sure these awful belts must be the basis of the tawse that at one time were an integral part of the corporal punishment system in Scotland. Over thirty years ago, the tawse was outlawed for use on children in Scotland, as it should have been.
However consenting adults only have to search the internet to buy a tawse of their own.
Surely as long as Gavin has the belt from his kilt, there is no need for one in our house. Is there?
