Don’t read this, Mrs. Dunphrey.
When I was getting ready for school this morning, Matt came in and said he didn’t have any clean underwear. I couldn’t believe that, since I stayed up until 3 A.M. last night doing the laundry. I went into his room with him, and looked in his drawer, and he was right, there wasn’t any underwear there. I asked him if he’d been putting his underwear in the dirty clothes basket. I tried to be nice about it, but I was so tired maybe I sounded mean … He started crying right off. That made me mad, and I wanted to hit him almost as bad as I’d wanted to hit Sandy last week. Why is Matt such a wimp? After about fifteen minutes, he finally pointed under the bed. I crawled down there and sure enough, there was every bit of underwear Matt owns. I should have been able to smell it. Matt finally told me he’d been wetting his bed almost every night, but he was so ashamed he just hid the underwear. I looked at his sheets and they were all stained and stinky, too. It was gross. I blew up and yelled at Matt—why was he wetting his bed now? Didn’t he know he was too old for that? Did he think I had time to change his sheets every night?
Matt just cried harder, and I got to feeling terrible. It’s not like Matt is wetting his bed on purpose. I told him, to make it up to him, we’d both stay home from school, and I’d play games with him all day and fix him whatever he wanted for lunch, and we’d just have fun together.
I didn’t remember until after school would have been out that I was supposed to have two tests today. It’s not like I would have done very well on them, anyhow.