“Lace my shoes,” my wife demands, throwing her leg on my lap after I finish up with mine. “Not too tight.” “If Zoha can tie her laces”—I slip the shoe off her foot and toss it aside, narrowly avoiding a teenage girl walking by—“so can you, Nuisance.” She grits her adorable, square teeth. “There’s a special place in hell for men like you, Asseer.” “As long as it isn’t next to you.”
