What a bad day. Funny the way you know sometimes, before unclosing an eye, that the day’s got nothing good in store for you whatsoever. Your car might fail to start, for instance. You might burn your tongue on hot coffee. The dog could run off, or the cat—or a husband, I suppose, though a catastrophe like that would seem to warrant a more vivid descriptor than the run-of-the-mill bad day like I’ve had, where you just feel sad and hurt and kind of mopey, as if the day has fallen victim to a tepid...