I try to remember that my husband is an angel of a man, a profferer of backrubs, bringer of flowers, an emergency therapist, whose only oafishness I can point to is a tendency to binge-watch prestige cable shows for hours on end but I feel my voice involuntarily thicken against my throat. “So you think I should just get a lobotomy? Or a personality transplant? What do you think would be best?”