I do not like being a nag. For the most part I prefer whining. But sometimes whining just doesn't work. Nagging is my second form of torture. When all else fails, I generally throw a fit. It takes lots of effort, but it's effective.
Here's how it went down: we went on vacation and saw barn quilts. I fell in love, love, love with the idea of painting a barn quilt for our shed. I talked about it and Richard said he did not want a barn quilt on his shed. But I was pretty persistent.
Nothing happened. Really, you'd think the man would get it by now. You'd figure that after 38 years of marriage, he'd know I'm not going to stop. But nope, he just starts with no. And he hangs on to it for a while.
But the thing is, he can't hang on long enough. He has one strategy: say no. That's it. I, on the other hand, have three uhm, four, several, depending on whether you count the subtle attempts. Hint around. Hint around a little more directly. Directly say what I want. Ask again and again. Whine. Whine like a kid. Fuss. Fuss like an old woman. Nag. Have a fit. Have a big fit. Torture. Back to nagging.
All that in my back pocket and the man has no. Sure he says it a lot many, too many times. But who's going to win? Me. Every. Single. Time.
My sisters say I'm spoiled and they are half right. I am spoiled. Because I know how to wear the man down. And that's what I did: I wore him down to two barn quilts on his shed. Now ask me who was the creative genius and who did the work.
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