"I only do it with them"

You don't argue about dates with your colleagues. You don't correct your friends' memories of Christmas. You'd never produce a calendar at a dinner party. It's only at home, with them, so something about them must bring it out.

Two things. The first is that they're there. Your colleagues aren't at your table at seven o'clock when you're tired. Your friends don't take the route to your in-laws. The person you live with is the only one who's present for enough of your days to have a plumber to disagree about, and the frequency of arguments is mostly the frequency of contact.

The second is that they're safe. You don't correct your colleague's memory because your colleague might think less of you, and might say so, and there's a cost. You correct your partner because there's no cost, or none that arrives tonight. The people we're worst with are the people we're surest of, because sureness removes the brake that politeness supplies everywhere else. That's not something they bring out in you. It's something their steadiness allows in you, and it's a poor use of steadiness.

An earlier book in this series, about taking things personally, makes a point about samples that applies here in reverse. Your partner's sample of you is the private one. Your colleagues get the public you, who lets dates go and laughs off misrememberings. Your partner gets the you who reaches for the calendar. If you asked your colleagues whether you argue to be right, they'd say no. If you asked your partner, they'd have a list. Both are describing you accurately. One of them is describing the version that only appears where it's safe.

The fix isn't to make home less safe. It's to bring home the courtesy you extend everywhere else, which costs you nothing at work and would cost you nothing at dinner. You already know how to let a date go. You do it every day, with people who matter less.