“I have a clicker,” she later explains to a friend, as they have coffee and talk about her bright future as a newly single woman, free to once again share uncorrected facts with whomever she pleases. “I keep it in my pocket, right beside my extremely tightly clenched fist. And I’m not counting happy days. Oh no. I’m counting how many times that goddamn know-it-all tells me I’m wrong, when in fact he doesn’t have any idea what he’s talking about. And when it gets to a hundred, I’m going to write down one final, correct answer. It’ll be regarding the reason this marriage is over. I’m going to staple that note to his pillow. And then I’m going to use correction fluid to white the whole message out, and just leave.”
As of noon today, the clicker had registered 71 corrections lodged since Mrs. Slobodan began tracking, shortly after breakfast this morning.
“And yes I gave him fair warning. He told me I was wrong, that he doesn’t correct me. So I clicked. And he told me that wasn’t a correction either. So I clicked again. And then I suggested he might want to start thinking about what he’s going to have for dinner for the rest of his life.”