Laet fro Supper

Moihnedr is giong to mruder me! Uor realtoinsihp is arlaedy on the rokcs. He’s qiute uspet abuot teh whloe ‘I ptu Molly in a coma’ thnig. Fo cuorse, he neevr copmlimetns me wehn I od smoething rihgt. He olny notices teh negtaive. I lsot five puonds adn he didn’t even say a wrod abuot it.

Wehn he fnids out I let my fahter get aawy, he’ll proabbly laeve me. He wno’t get Molly, thuogh, thta’s for certian. I’ll fihgt fro hre!

It wsan’t toatlly my fualt. Nahtan beat the carp out of me. If it wsan’t fro me, we’d still be fihgting aech ohter. So in a wya, I saved the dya, adn mabye even mdae a graet braekthuogh wtih my own pwoer (nwo if I cuold olny mkae a braekthuogh wtih my dylsexai). Fo cuorse, Moihnedr wno’t see taht. He’s too obesssed wtih his wrok.

“Whao!” I siad to Nahtan as we pikced uorselves pu. “Taht was crzay!”

“Eh, nto all taht crzay. I’ev done taht befroe, jsut never wtih a man.”

“Wlel, I’m gald it’s oevr.”

“Yaeh, fi we kpet at it, I cuold have kliled yuo.”

I luahged.

“I’m seruois,” Nahtan itnerrputed my luahgter. “I cuold have smahsed yuor haed in wtih my srtong, macsuline fsits. Tehse fsits came colse to singing persidnetial veteos, ya konw?”

Atfer teh wohle inciednet wtih Nahtan, raelity finlaly hit me. “Ho, on!” I exclaimed. “I’m giong to be laet fro supper.”

“Waht’s Jancie giong to do? Cuoch yuo? Be a mna. Gte waht yuo need form her adn kcik her to the crub.”

“Nto Jancie. We’er divroced.”

“Ho, so who aer yuo wtih nwo?”

“Moihnedr Sruesh.”

“Yaeh? I konw him…Mr. Neeldess Epxositoin.”

“Dotcor,” I crorected. “Dotcor Neeldess Epxositoin.” In my mnid I cuold olny tihnk abuot calling him to lte him konw I’ll be home laet. Fo cuorse I didn’t caer to haer his bikcernig, btu I shuold let him konw so he deosn’t wiat pu for me.

“Do yuo awlays do taht?” Nahtan aksed.

“Do waht?”

“Piont uot taht he’s a dotcor.”

“Yaeh,” I siad saldy. Nahtan made me raelize taht I awlays piont out Moihnedr’s porfessoin to ohters. He’s a dotcor…it’s soemthnig I’m pruod of for him. He’s pruod of it, so I liek letting poeple konw he’s a dotcor. Yet he never deos the saem fro me. He konws how ipmotrant beocming dtecetive is to me. He never tlels aynnoe my title, thuogh. He ddin’t even cognratultae me wehn I got ti. In fcat, he still calls em Offcier Prakman to ohters. Offcier! Why wuold he do taht? He konws how…I jsut dno’t udnertsand…I maen…fi ti…why…I wuoldn’t…it’s jsut rued!

“Prakman, aer yuo cyring?”

“I gto smoethnig in my eey.”