The decision

You've got the argument and the method. What's left is to decide, and I'd like the decision to fit in one sentence, and I'd like both of you to make it, though chapter 24 covers what to do if only one of you will.

When the one row turns up in a new costume, we say its name, deal with tonight's costume, and leave the record shut.

Three parts.

The first is the name, said by whoever sees it first, flat, as early as possible.

The second is the costume, answered as the small thing it is, tonight, in a sentence.

The third is the record, which stays shut, tonight and every night, by both of you, and which is the part that takes the most practice.

There's a form of planning that helps with rules like this, and it's been tested many times. Peter Gollwitzer and Paschal Sheeran reviewed ninety-four studies of it in 2006. You decide in advance what you'll do and when, in the form "when this happens, I'll do that", and people who plan that way follow through much more often than people who only hold the intention. So write three, each of you.

When I notice the row starting, I'll say its name before I say anything about the topic.

When my partner opens the record, I'll say "that's the record" and say my one sentence instead of answering.

When the ten minutes are done, I'll stay in the room.

What to expect. This is my expectation, not a finding. The first instance after the name is agreed will be strange. One of you will say the name and the other will say "don't do that" and you'll have a short row about the name, which is the row in a new costume, and you can say so. The second and third instances will be better, and you'll notice the evening still there afterwards and not quite trust it. Somewhere around the fifth, the name will arrive on its own, from whichever of you is less tired, and you'll deal with the dishwasher and say your sentences and be done, and it'll take eight minutes, and you'll feel slightly cheated that it was that simple. By a month, the between will have changed. You'll notice you're not going over it on Wednesday, because there's nothing to go over, and the record will have stopped growing because nothing's been added to it. The row won't be gone. It'll be a thing the two of you have, like the way one of you loads the dishwasher wrong, and you'll find that a row you have is far lighter than a row you're losing.

Phillippa Lally and colleagues, following people forming a new daily habit, found that a missed day didn't materially set back the habit's formation. There'll be an instance where the name doesn't get said and the fresh case runs. Chapter 25 is for that.