1998, I was seeing a man who was famous for being a brilliant student, who was slightly balding, fit and short. "Seeing" meant sharp-tongued banter and kissing in the hallways. I assumed he was seeing other people, in a more grown up way. I assumed that had nothing to do with me. I remember the pretty film, Surviving Picasso...I was Françoise, the young one who survived Picasso. I had too much going for me to be engulfed by this guy.
Anthony Hopkins' Pablo Picasso showed a portrait to his new girl Françoise (Natascha McElhone) of a razor-tongued woman, his x, who "had a sharp tongue to nag, nag, nag," he said in a nagging Hopkins accent. "She has a sharp tongue to nag nag nag."
I started hearing myself say the same things over and over to my current boyfriend, so much my throat literally hurt sometimes so I'd say "my throat hurts, I can't talk so much." But I'm stopping. By the way, Raj helped label the stuff for garage sale yesterday. It all took a few minutes, after I spent 10 times as long saying we had to do it. What a waste! Nothing gets done when you nag - except rapid aging.