I DECIDE to test the next logical relationship: my marriage. These arguments with my wife are killin

I DECIDE to test the next logical relationship: my marriage. These arguments with my wife are killing me—partly because Julie is a much better debater than I am. Maybe Asha can do better: Hello Asha, My wife got annoyed at me because I forgot to get cash at the automatic bank machine ... I wonder if you could tell her that I love her, but gently remind her that she too forgets things—she has lost her wallet twice in the last month. And she forgot to buy nail clippers for Jasper. AJ I can’t tell you what a thrill I got from sending that note. It’s pretty hard to get much more passive- aggressive than bickering with your wife via an e-mail from a subcontinent halfway around the world. The next morning, Asha CC’d me on the e-mail she sent to Julie. Julie, Do understand your anger that I forgot to pick up the cash at the automatic machine. I have been forgetful and I am sorry about that. But I guess that doesn’t change the fact that I love you so much.... Love AJ P.S. This is Asha mailing on behalf of Mr. Jacobs. As if that weren’t enough, she also sent Julie an e-card. I click on it: two teddy bears embracing, with the words, “Anytime you need a hug, I’ve got one for you.... I’m sorry.” Damn! My outsourcers are too friggin’ nice! They kept the apology part but took out my little jabs. They are trying to save me from myself. They are superegoing my id. I feel castrated. Julie, on the other hand, seems quite pleased: “That’s nice, sweetie. I forgive you.” DESPITE THREE weeks with my support team, I’m still stressed. Perhaps it’s the fault of Chicken Dance Elmo, whom my son loves to the point of dry humping, but who is driving me slowly insane. Whatever the reason, I figure it’s time to conquer another frontier: outsourcing my inner life. First, I try to delegate my therapy. My plan is to give Asha a list of my neuroses and a childhood anecdote or two, have her talk to my shrink for 50 minutes, then relay the advice. Smart, right? My shrink refused. Ethics or something. Fine. Instead, I have Asha send me a meticulously researched memo on stress relief. It had a nice Indian flavor to it, with a couple of yogic postures and some visualization. This was okay, but it didn’t seem quite enough. I decided I needed to outsource my worry. For the last few weeks [I’ve been tearing my hair out because a business deal is taking far too long to close. I asked Honey if she would be interested in tearing her hair out in my stead. Just for a few minutes a day. She thought it was a wonderful idea. “I will worry about this every day,” she wrote. “Do not worry.” The outsourcing of my neuroses was one of the most successful experiments of the month. Every time I started to ruminate, ’'d remind myself that Honey was already on the case, and I’d relax. No joke—this alone was worth it. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_013873