What can I say, Nancy? I want to be with you. I want to take naps with you. I want to watch you watch a hockey game. I want to find long, red hairs in my overcooked pot roast. I love you. I do love you. Because you know that what I really am is a poor mama's boy from ''Sadchester'', Massachusetts, who had to wear his sister's hand-me-down corduroys.