Copyright 1998 to <mijita@thetreehouse.net> and <pablo@thetreehouse.net>. Please respect this copyright. Don't distribute or archive this story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission. No, it's not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.

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Where Mija Has Been
by Mija [with interpolations by Pablo]

Ummmmm, not sitting on any ol' chair any longer than needed, that's for very darn sure.

[This is true - because it's much easier for you to avoid schoolwork by staying in bed. <smiley kinda frown>]

I'm sorry I've neglected all of my friends. :( (It's all Pablo's fault though . . . but don't tell him I said so.) I really do care a lot about everyone and about the group.

[Not saying anything. I'm just as guilty of neglecting people I care about lately.]

But I was really behind in school (still am and had to take an incomplete. Pab was thrilled lemme tell ya). So I stopped loading the group or even reading my e-mail.

[Would you care to explain this sense of 'had to'? It's clearly not one I've come across before. Fool that I am, I might almost think you took an incomplete because you'd procrastinated away weeks of term time. Hmmm?]

Then Pablo came from very far away to talk with me. We've been traveling all over the place and he's been totally hogging the computer. (Which is mine BTW, not that that seems to matter or anything!)

[Not hogging. It just takes me a while to figure out how to use Macintoshes. I'm used to real computers.]

Still, when we met at the airport he'd brought me some (mostly) really great presents. A really really sweet stuffed Tigger doll that bounces up and down. (But just on his head when he's sleeping. <eg>) And a really great story about me that he found in a bookshop! (See below.)

[And the story is way scary in its stark, documentary portrayal of Mija's life.]

And <cough> a beautiful (!!!) satinwood hairbrush from Crabtree and Evelyn in London. <whine> I unwrapped it right there in the Starbucks in the terminal <gulp>. It stings. Waaaaaay too much. :(( And I think it cost like a jillion pounds (that's even more in dollars) so I'm afraid to lose it. :((( (I even fished it out from where it had hidden under the bed of the hotel in San Francisco. I'm just so very very good is all I can say). 0:b~

[Don't worry, folks. I fitted a homing device into the brush before I gave it to her. I could track it down from a radius of up to fifty miles.]

Anyway, I'll be back on the group soon. My bottom hurts a lot even though it doesn't have any marks. Which is really unfair 'cos Pablo has barely even gotten swatted and his looks like someone tried to kill him. <sulk>

[This is, I must admit, true. My delicate little tush marks like you've never seen. Though the fact that my normal skin tone is the alabaster of the sunless northern wastelands may have something to do with it.]

Peace,

Mija - who discovered this morning that Pablo does not like ice on his hair while he sleeps. Who'd have thought? I mean, it was already like past 10 a.m. and everything.

[Is it worth me asking why you omitted to tell the good people that I was up till 2.30 a.m. driving us home, and then up again at 6 a.m. to buy a parking permit? Hmmm?]

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[Image of Mr Impossible][Image of Little Miss Naughty] The Story About Mija That Pablo Brought As A Present: Little Miss Naughty
Sorta by Roger Hargreaves (with apologies to him and all that)
[Apologies?! The original of this story is about as crypto-spanko as a story gets!]

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Are you ever naughty?

Sometimes I bet!

{No way! Not me!}

[?!?!]

Well, Little Miss Naughty was naughty all the time.

{That's me, Little Miss Naughty. I know ya wouldn't have guessed that 'cos I'm really never naughty, but Pablo seemed to think I was for some reason. Sheesh!}

[The brat doth protest too much, methinks.]

She awoke one Sunday morning and looked out of the window.

"Looks like a nice day," she thought to herself.

And then she grinned.

"Looks like a nice day for being naughty," she said.

And rubbed her hands!

{You can't see it, but there is a really sweet picture of Little Miss Naughty smiling behind her hand and peeking out of the window.}

That Sunday Mr Uppity was out for a morning stroll.

Little Miss Naughty knocked his hat off his head.

And jumped on it!

"My hat!" cried Mr Uppity.

{A picture of Little Miss Naughty accidentally bouncing . . . er . . . tripping on Mr Uppity's hat. That sorta thing'll happen if ya leave yer stuff on the floor.}

[And Mija would know. Leaving stuff on the floor is a subject she knows all about.]

That afternoon Mr Clever was sitting in his garden reading a book.

And do you know what that Little Miss Naughty did?

{Wanted him to read her a story rather than being all selfish and reading alone I bet!}

[This from someone who signs her posts 'peace'?! <snort!>]

She broke his glasses!

"My glasses!" cried Mr Clever.

{Picture of Mr Clever with broken glasses. Though maybe they're bifocals, ya never really can tell.}

That evening Mr Bump was just standing there.

Minding his own business.

{Sure, that's his story.}

[Ah, but we have a third-person omniscient narrator here, so it's not his story, it's the truth. <nodding with self-assurance, and sure Mija won't counter with any of her deliberately obscurantist lit theory>]

And guess what Little Miss Naughty did?

{Hurried past him so she could go study I'm sure.}

She ran off with his bandages!

{Only 'cos her bookbag got snagged on them!}

[Mija as the puppy who steals the toilet paper. What a cute image! Bwahahaha!]

{Pic of blushing Mr Bump.}

And bandaged up Mr Small!

{Ummm . . . this is a little harder to explain. Maybe she mistook him for Mr Bump! Or thought he was like into bondage maybe?}

[No, sweetie. It's Little Miss Naughty, not Little Miss Stern-yet-Caring. Besides, did she negotiate a safe-word with him beforehand? Exactly.]

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmfffff!" he cried.

It's difficult to say anything when you're bandaged up like that!

{Pic of wee Mr Small in a tight mummy wrap.}

Mr Uppity and Mr Clever and Mr Bump and Mr Small were very very very very cross.

{Too cross to think clearly and see how they might be making too much of a string of unfortunate accidents.}

[The net begins to tighten.]

Very very very very cross indeed!

"Oh what a wonderful Sunday," giggled Little Miss Naughty as she walked along.

"And it isn't even bedtime yet!"

{Picture of Little Miss Naughty walking along and giggling. I'm sure she's innocent cos she couldn't enjoy being naughty, that's for darn sure!}

[Ya think Miss Naughty knows what happens to naughty girls at bedtime? Horrors! Ya think that's why she's giggling? Really, this book ought to be on the banned list, right next to The One-Hundred Days of Sodom.]

First thing on Monday morning the Mr Men had a meeting.

{Uh-Oh!}

"Something has to be done," announced Mr Uppity, who had managed to straighten out his hat.

They all looked at Mr Clever, who was wearing his spare pair of glasses.

"You're the cleverest," they said. "What's to be done about Little Miss Naughty?"

Mr Clever thought.

He cleared his throat.

And spoke.

"I've no idea," he said.

{Thank goodness!}

[Well he's no damn use. What's he doing with the name if he can't fathom out a bit of basic Little-Miss psychology.]

"I have," piped up Mr Small.

{Darn that little guy anyway! <pout>}

[Hurrah!]

"I know what that naughty little lady needs," he went on.

"And I know who can do it," he added.

"What?" asked Mr Uppity.

"Who?" asked Mr Clever.

"Aha!" chuckled Mr Small, and went off to see a friend of his.

{No wonder she tied this guy up! Sheesh! Can't anyone take a joke?!}

[That would be Mr Good-Sense-Of-Humour. Which is another story. Or Mr Masochist. Which is another story altogether.]

Somebody who could do impossible things like making himself invisible.

I wonder who that can be?

That Monday Mr Nosey was asleep under a tree.

Little Miss Naughty crept toward him with a pot of paint in one hand, a paintbrush in the other, and a rather large grin on her face.

{The picture is of just that!}

She was going to paint the end of his nose!

Red!

{That could have been her intent, but it isn't totally clear. . . .}

[See above. The narrator is omniscient.]

But.

Just as she was about to do the dreadful deed, something happened.

SMACK!

Someone smacked her bottom!

Someone she couldn't see smacked her bottom!

Someone invisible!

I wonder who?

"Ouch!" cried Little Miss Naughty.

And, dropping the paint and paintbrush, she ran away as fast as her little legs would carry her.

{Picture is of Little Miss Naughty running away from the invisible smacker. Poor Little Miss!}

[Well about time!]

On Tuesday Mr Busy was rushing along.

As usual!

{Rushing is bad. He shouldn't even be doing that!}

Little Miss Naughty, standing by the side of the road, stuck out her foot.

She was going to trip him up!

Head over heels!

And heels over head!

{Now wait! From the picture she could just be putting out her foot intending to cross the road! I think this is really a biased interpretation!}

[Crossing the road without looking both ways? Without finding a safe place to cross? And with Mr Drink-Driver somewhere in the vicinity? <tutting> That would be, well, naughty.]

But.

Just before she did, something happened.

SPANK!

The invisible spanker with his invisible hairbrush had struck again!

And it hurt!

{Like duh!}

"Ouch!" cried Little Miss Naughty.

And ran away even faster than her little legs would carry her.

{Wouldn't you?}

[Of course not. I would stay to receive just and reasonable chastisement, in accordance with the nature and extent of my misdemeanours. And I'd expect no less from another. 'Course, the fact is that I'm much too good ever to be in this position, but my argument remains sound.]

On Wednesday Mr Happy was at home.

Watching television!

Outside, Little Miss Naughty picked up a stone.

She was going to break his window!

Naughty girl!

{All that from just pickin' up one stone? There's lots of reasons for picking up stones! Maybe she is studying geology! Talk about a rush to judgement!!!}

[Maybe Little Miss Naughty shares Mija's distaste for TV?]

But.

As she brought her arm back to throw, guess what?

{<pout> You guess!}

That's right!

SMAAACK! SPANK! SMACK!!

"Ouch!" cried Little Miss Naughty as she ran off holding her bottom.

{This is a tragic tale! :( Don't you even laugh!}

[Heeheeheeheehee! It's tragic only in the sense that the Little Miss's comeuppance is relentlessly inevitable.]

And so it went on.

All day Thursday.

SPANK!

All day Friday.

SMACK! SPANK!!

All day Saturday.

SPANK! SMACK!! SMACK!!!

By which time Little Miss Naughty's bottom was bright red.

{Poor Little Miss! He musta been taking her panties down too!}

[I see no panties in the pictures, sweetie. Nor skirts, trousers, dresses. You'll have to face it: she was spanked bare. Which is quite correct and proper, of course.]

But.

By Sunday she was cured.

No naughtiness at all!

{'least none she's showing you!}

[Reluctant to admit that naughtiness can be cured?]

Thanks to the invisible hairbrush spanker.

On Sunday evening Mr Small went round to see him.

"Hello, Mr Impossible," he smiled.

{I think 'Mr Impossible' is a darn good name for a top. So there!!}

[Of course. Topping is just one small miracle after another.]

"Thank you for helping cure Little Miss Naughty."

"My pleasure," laughed Mr Impossible.

{An obvious sadist. <sulk>}

"But don't you mean," he grinned. "Spank you?"

{What goes on between Mr Impossible and Mr Small is a whole other story!}

[As is what goes on between Little Miss Mija and Mr Pab. . . .]

The End.

[Fin]

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