My father, who kept industrial-grade acetone in the house to perfect the kitchen counters, was constantly after me about cleaning the "pig sty" that was my bedroom floor. "Man, I can't wait to get out of here and get a girlfriend," I thought. "I'll never have to put up with nagging again!"

When I finally got my first girlfriend in college, I soon longed for Dad's nagging—at least he was badgering me to do something that seemed possible. Melinda, by contrast, harassed me about not giving her enough attention and complained that I was smothering her, both in the … Read More

I loved her, but it was a heavy love. It started once we were just past that beginning stage. You know what I mean, when we were both too afraid of sending the other running to the hills screaming to even risk nagging. It was all over-politeness. "This time," we thought, "I will be perfect. I will not nag, and under no circumstances will I show jealousy. I will be cool." This was after that. The stage where we began to wonder if this could be the person we would spend the rest of our lives with.

It started with simple … Read More

A few days ago, I was asking my 17 year old son a series of have-you-gotten-blank-and-blank-done-college-application questions. To which he replied with a series of exasperated yeahs until he reached his manly limit, I guess, and said, “Mom, would you just stop nagging me?” I think I heard my husband murmur, “Uh-oh.” I started to say, “WHAT?!!?” when he interrupted to quickly say, “I just mean, mom, that I have it under control! You don’t need to worry about it. Really….it’s all good.” Even better, I’m sure, after a little speech about motherhood, worrying, … Read More

The most wonderful date that Colin and I ever went on was just two months after we started seeing each other. We sat in a plush red booth at The Carlyle hotel in Manhattan, listened to a jazz trio, talked, laughed, and sipped champagne. Afterward, we strolled down Madison Avenue arm in arm: he in a crisp jacket and tie, me in a little black dress and a pair of Gucci heels that I had gotten for free at a publicity event, but had never before had the occasion to wear.

Back at his apartment, I was impressed and delighted … Read More

I'm seething. My husband, Jon, has snuck outside to smoke. Again. The smell is wafting in through the bedroom window. He's quit a few times, but he always starts up again—just, it seems to me, when abstaining should be getting easier. His backslides strike in the most insidious of ways: A late-night trip to the store for some pizza rolls ends with him walking in ten minutes later, pack of cigarettes in hand, looking dazed. I barely even remember buying these. But now that I have 'em, I'm sure as hell gonna smoke 'em. Or he has a stressful day, … Read More