On Monday, my wife threw a hissy fit. “I don’t want your stupid car, I don’t want your stupid driver, I don’t want your stupid money,” she said, even though I hadn’t offered her any. But long years of being married have taught me to read between the lines, so I went to an ATM, withdrew cash, gave it to the driver in an envelope to hand over to my wife, and took an Uber to work.
On Tuesday, my wife was in a better mood. “Can I take a lift with you?” she asked. “I can be dressed in no
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