That women nag seems to be a forgone conclusion of life. As sure as the skies are blue, 1+1=3, and Jay-Z is the greatest rapper alive, Women nag. They nag about little things, they nag about big things. They nag about when they're mad, they nag when they're happy. Women nag. It's what they do.
But in fairness to women, we come by our nagging honestly. Any girl growing up around even halfway wise women was told to stand up for herself. That men don’t like doormats. That men love bitches. We’re told that the squeaky wheel gets the grease, that agitation promotes change, that closed mouths don’t get fed. Translation: if you want something from your man, open your mouth and make noise with it. And don’t stop til you get what you want.
My mother is a Grade-A, first class, champion nagger. If nagging were an Olympic sport she would be an 18-time gold medalist. She has elevated the shit to an art form. And while I have to give her credit for coming up with a system that worked for her, I realized fairly early on that I never wanted to be like that.