Dear Abby: My mother-in-law is the most insensitive person I have ever known. When Harold (her son) introduced me to her, she said: ”How do you do. Is your complexion always that bad, or is that a temporary condition?”
She talks endlessly about all the pretty and well-to-do girls Harold could have married. It was a big disappointment to her when he married me. I was poor and plain.
I have never talked back to her because I was taught to respect my elders, but I had trouble controlling my tongue when she announced to a houseful of relatives that she had saved $1,000 for Harold`s ”divorce.”
Everyone laughed as though it was a joke.
Harold`s father left her when Harold was 4. I will give ”Mom” credit for raising a fine son all alone, but it hurts something terrible to have him sit lock-jawed while his mother insults me. Maybe she has mental problems.
Would it be rude and improper for me to speak my mind to her?
Had Enough
Dear Had Enough: First, speak your mind to your husband. It`s his duty to stick up for you! It`s possible that the woman is having ”mental” problems, but problems or not, your husband should not permit his mother to insult his wife. And if he doesn`t defend you, you have every right to defend yourself.
Dear Abby: I`ve seen letters in your column from all the folks who wish they had never quit taking piano lessons, but not one letter to the contrary. Well, here`s a strong one!
At the age of 3, my parents decided that I was going to be a concert pianist, so I started taking lessons from a teacher who smelled of verbena and wore a cameo and watch pinned to her blouse. She placed pennies on the top of my small hands, and if one fell off while I was playing, she whacked my hands with a ruler. Soon I graduated to shot glasses of water, and if I spilled a drop, out came the ruler!
For the next nine years I had a professor twice a week and practiced four hours a day. I was never allowed to play anything but classical-nothing for my own amusement. How sad as a teenager to go to a party, be asked to play and have to worm out of it because they wanted to sing and dance, and all I knew was ”The Spinning Song.”
At 13, I was a concert pianist, wearing floor-length gowns and spike heels. Then my mother died, the professor tried to get amorous and, fortunately, the Depression hit, so I closed up the piano.
The only time I have touched it since was one night after bowling and a few highballs, I arrived home to find my daughter badly mangling a piece of music on the piano. I told her to move over and then proceeded to run through ”Marche Militaire,” which I had learned on the sly and used to bang out all my frustrations. My daughter was aghast-she never knew I could play a note. And believe me, I haven`t since, and I am 72 years old. Woe to the parents who have ambitions not for their children, but for themselves.
Mrs. Virginia Johnson,
Winter Haven, Fla.
Dear Abby: Believe it or not, I cannot find this information anywhere, so I am turning to you. What are the seven deadly sins?
Dumb Dora in Albany, N.Y.
Dear Dora: Anger, avarice, envy, gluttony, pride, lust and sloth.
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