It was an ordinary Sunday afternoon in the Anderson household a few years back, full of books and tea and other comforts. My wife had momentarily interrupted my reading by giving me a kiss, seemingly without cause. It captured just the sort of warm affection one hopes for after a decade of marriage. Delighted, I unreflectively asked what it was for. Her response conveyed the same care, though not in the form I had hoped for: “Sometimes we get what we don’t deserve,” she drily remarked before turning to walk away.
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