This afternoon I'm escorting 13- and 14-year-old girls to a post-Christmas, present-madness shopping mall. For defensive mental health I'll be armed with a copy of the Bard's Merry Wives, which, assuming an available bench, should be sufficient. Otherwise, because my religious faith is infinitely shaky, it wouldn't hurt if you were to say a little prayer for me, since today I'm also infinitely outmatched.