Nag

In relationships you often take on certain roles. There’s the lover and the fighter. The talker and the listener. The pragmatist and the dreamer. My husband and I complement one another rather well but in some aspects we are opposites. For instance, I am a doer and he is a… put-it-off-until-tomorrower. And this is where the nagging comes into play.

I hate nagging. I can’t bear it when I catch myself doing it. That’s when I put my head in my hands and wail “I’m a nag!! I’m that wife that NAGS”. It’s not my nature and I hate the way it makes me feel. For the record, my husband has never ever called me a nag. He says “You don’t nag… you encourage and remind”. He says the nagging is all in my head, that I’m not anywhere near as bad as I think I am.

“You know I hate nagging. Can’t you just do it? Why do I have to ask you? Can’t you just see that it needs doing and do it?”. His default position is to shrug apologetically and say “I need it. If you didn’t kick me up the arse now and then nothing would ever get done”. This is a sweet way to look at it, I suppose.

So keen am I not to nag I will almost always take on the whole job by myself. Even if it’s not physically possible for me to do so.

I will stomp about making lots of noise doing the thing he was meant to do until he appears hands in pockets, leaning on the door frame giving me an amused smile before saying “Is there anything I can help you with Darling?”.

“No, I’m fine” I’ll say as I crumple to the floor under the weight of the wardrobe I was trying to shift single handedly.

“You could have just asked y’know?”

“I didn’t want to nag!”

“Kim, just tell me to do it”