Dear Ann Landers,
ow that the great American home-wrecker (football) is being glorified on all the networks, will you please relay a message to my husband? There is no chance that I can get his attention until after January, but he might listen to you.

Dear Husband,
I am fast slipping into a state of depression as I face another season of watching you watch the idiot box as if it is the only thing in life that matters. But, then, I guess it is. I find it quite remark-able that you chat so easily with the players, whom you don't even know (and who never answer you, of course), while I sit there, the woman who has been married to you for 15 years and bore you three healthy, beautiful children, and I could drop dead in front of your eyes and you wouldn't even notice. I find it fascinating that you can call each and every player by name. You know where they were born and how much they weigh. I am cer-tain you do not know how much your own children weigh, and at this point, I wouldn't bet that you could call them by name. For the last three Thanksgivings, you have not come to the table to eat with us. Christmas and New Year's, it is the same story. When your children grow up, they will remember that you ignored them. Nature has a strange way of paying people back. When you want their love and affection, they will tell you to get lost. -The Girl in Your Wedding Picture, Remember Me? Dear Girl: I'm printing this in the hope that things will brighten up around your house before the holidays. Thanks for writing.