Dear Betty Dear Betty, I received your letter an hour ago. I know exactly how you feel. My Harvey is just as obstinate about my coats, too. Why, I only have three! And two of them date back to World War II! But what can you do? I mean, he's got the money. All I do is cater to his whims, wait on him hand and foot. Say, do you remember Fred Washbuck? There was a small article in the paper about him tht other day. He and his wife are on their way-back to Arizona. They just stopped off here to visit his old homestead. Funny thing, he hasn't changed in looks at all! You wouldn't even know he was 50 years old. His wife is still quite pretty, though a little plump, I'm afraid. But you know how it is. Some women just let themselves go once they get married. I don't see how she can stand him, frankly. Did I ever tell you about how Fred and I almost got married? It was a close call, I must say. I was just plain lucky. I was twenty at the time - I was still living in Milwaukee with my parents. I remember the house very well - Mama always kept everything so neat. Even the curtains hung in correct folds or she'd have a fit. I was taught to be a quiet refined lady. That's why I was so happy when I met Fred. He was the real Greek god! Curly blonde hair and-the deepest blue eyes. He even had a dimple in his chin! He was very quiet, never rambunctious (at least not at first!). He was quite attracted to me too - I was rather pretty then if I do say so myself. We got along famously, all very respectable, of course: movies, walks, long discussions of important events of the day, things like that. I thought I had him pretty well sized up as a nice young man who would never cause trouble or have a fiery temper. My assumptions were never shattered more violently. One day, as we were bowling at the local lanes, he asked me if I'd like to try flying. I thought he was joking at first, Peter Pan and Tinker-belle and all that - he had some of the queerest jokes - but he explained that he wanted to take me for an airplane ride. I agreed, naturally assuming that all it would be was a "sightseeing" circle of our town on some hired plane. I even imagined that it would be romantic - both of us looking down over the city and out at the never-ending blue of the sky, and holding hands with the knowledge that, while everything else was far away, we were not. Makes me sick to think of it now. Anyway, I was ready at the appointed hour, dressed in my warmest clothes at Fred's suggestion. It was a beautiful fall day, no wind at all to disturb the brilliant leaves on our two old tired oaks on the front lawn. I whistled a little, and patted my hair into place. At last, Fred showed up in his dilapidated old Plymouth. 13