Thaddeus Throckmorton III viewed the first sprout of a crocus not as a sign of rebirth, but as a formal declaration of war. To the rest of the world, it was spring. To Thaddeus, it was the Season of Great Scrubbing — a period of domestic peril he avoided with the dedication of a fugitive on the run.

It began on a Saturday morning when his wife, Rhonda, emerged from the garage wielding a bucket of soapy water and a squeegee. He was sitting on the front porch enjoying his coffee.

“Thaddeus,” she said, her voice ringing with terrifying industry, “the windows are caked in winter grime. Let’s get to it.”

Thaddeus didn’t blink. He stared intently at the glass.

“I can’t, Rhonda, honey. I’ve developed Acute Refractive Vertigo.”

“That’s not a thing,” she said.

“It’s very much a thing,” he insisted. “The sunlight hitting the streaks at a 45-degree angle creates a prismatic........

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