Arriving home one flustered day, I was greeted with a clump of unattractive mail, cluttering up an otherwise neat dining room table, set for the evening meal. It had been a profoundly disenchanting day. And the first letter I open was an unexpected bill, and then there was the reminder of a parking fine to pay that we had transferred from my wife's name to mine. I was feeling pretty beaten at this stage, and what with the meal to finish, and our three-year-old son acting his age, my wife was already engaged.
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