To the Esteemed Corrector of My Spelling, and to the Entire Divine Assembly—He, She, They, It, and the One Made of Pure Bureaucratic Light:

Let all realms fall silent as I reveal my transgression:

I, humble fumbler of keyboards and repeat offender of vowel placement, did commit the unspeakable sin of typing feal instead of feel.

This error is not merely a human fault.

It is a violation of God’s sacred decrees, scribed on the Celestial Tablets of Spelling Accuracy—tablets which, I must add, are heavy enough that even angels don’t like moving them.

For this disgrace, I accept the age-old punishments:

Ten Lashes of Linguistic Shame,

Seven Thunders of Divine Spellcheck,

and the cold, judgmental stare of every librarian within a 500-mile radius.

Yet still, the weight of my error demands more.

Thus, I shall ascend a distant, storm-crowned mountain to train under an impossibly old master, one whose wisdom predates fonts themselves.

Possibly a dragon.

Almost certainly a dragon, given the scheduling.

This master will instruct me in the ancient arts:

the Flame of Proper Grammar,

the Wingbeats of Syntax,

and the Tail-Swipe of Unquestionable Verb Conjugation.

Only then shall I be purified.

Signed with Reverence, Regret, and Unavoidable Scheduling Conflicts:

Michael, Pilgrim of the Celestial Grammar Order,

Temporarily Unavailable Next Tuesday

(Because the Ancient Dragon Master said that was the only day they could fit me in),

and Kevin, I Am So Sorry—

Please Rent a U-Haul as I’ll need my truck for travel

For I Must Honor This Sacred Quest.