Dear Ann Landers, My husband is a workaholic. He regularly works on Saturdays and often on Sundays as well. He averages 10 to 12 hours a day. Our three children are grown and doing well. We have purchased annuities for them and our four grandchildren. We give generous gifts of money for birthdays and Christmas and enjoy the fact that we can.
We have two cars, a lovely home, no debts and approximately $1 million in assets. Sound good? Well, we also have no hohbies. We haven't had a vacation in years except for a couple of weekends when we visited our children and their families.
I was a professional woman and worked both inside and outside the home. We are both in our 70s. When does the fun start?
--The Big Q
Dear Q, The fun started for your husband a long time ago. Workaholics would rather work than play, which is why they do it.
Mates of workaholics must make their own fun. If you're in your 70s and haven't discovered that, you're a slow learner, honey.
Hi! It's Margo here. I'd love to know what you think of the letters -- and the answers!
Also, any additional thoughts you might have. Thanks!
Reader Comment
Very poor answer from Ann. This woman needs to sit down with her husband and tell him that his behavior indicates he cares more about working than her. What good is all the money if he won't take time to enjoy it together? Working 7 days a week is a direct rejection of her. This man needs therapy to find out why he needs to bury his life in work. Perhaps he has low self-esteem and is trying to somehow prove himself worthy. If this woman is in good health, she could live another 15 or more years. I, for one, would not be willing to spend them alone.
Lakewoodohiolady's Comment
Life is short. Take the trip. Buy the game or concert tickets. You can't take it with you.
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Our Reader to Reader Question of the Week:
Dear Readers, , I am very fond of her and value her friendship. In the middle of the night, after we all returned from a party, I heard her get up and go to the bathroom. I soon realized that she was ill and throwing up. I asked her if she needed any help. She said, “No, I feel much better now. It must have been the fish.” The next morning she did not join us at the breakfast table. Her husband brought her a cup of tea in the bedroom. They left around noon-she didn’t want any lunch-and she kept a handkerchief over her mouth when she mumbled “goodbyes” and said something about having broken a tooth. Immediately after they left, my husband said there was a problem with the toilet in the guest room. It kept overflowing, and a few days later we decided to call a plumber. He informed us that it was a bigger job than he thought and he would have to remove the toilet from the floor. Lo and behold, he found the problem: a set of false teeth. My husband and I are undecided as to what we should do. I think we should send our guest her teeth and tell her where we found them. Do you agree, Ann Landers?
