I hung up on my wife, feeling exhausted. We'd needed a live-in babysitter for a while, but Laila had fought me on it tooth and nail for months. We had the space, we had the money—more than enough of both; she just didn't want to hire anyone. I had tried everything I could think of to get her to agree, but her spike heels were dug in and she would not budge. Finally, I told her I was done asking her permission; I was going to hire someone whether she liked it or not. She gave in—gracelessly, but she gave in. I started to thank her, but she cut me off to snarl at me, saying she wouldn't sit there and listen to me gloat. I cut her off mid-syllable.