IT’S SUNDAY. Wake up. Your husband is already up walking around and says, “Wanna go to the beach?” He is going to surf, probably at Dog Beach. You distinctly remember saying that you would hang back this morning and get some writing done, but you want to go.
Put on a bathing suit, your favorite linen pants and a sweater. Grab a cup of coffee, a notebook, and the Economist (which you always bring but never read). Let him put sunblock on your tired face and follow him to the car. Don’t offer to carry anything. You’re so tired, you’ll just drop it.