Dear Ann Landers,
hen I was married in 1954,1 weighed 98 pounds. Unfortunately, I gained 30 pounds with each of my two children, and the weight just stayed on. Today I weigh 158 but I really don't look it. When I put on my good corset and wear heels and a black dress, you'd guess me at about 130. My husband makes me miserable because I am over-weight. Every time I reach for a second piece of butter or a baked potato, he makes an ugly remark. He is one of those wiry types who can still get into his Korean War uniform. Last Sunday he put it on to do the yard work just to make me mad. Why should I deprive myself of food to please a man who is so mean? I know several women who are overweight, but their husbands love them anyway. Please say he should accept me as I am. I get very depressed over his constant nagging.- Pleasingly Plump

Dear Plump,
Some husbands don't care if their wives get fat, but your husband does care and he has let you know it. Obviously, you'd rather stuff your face than please him. This hurts a man's pride, and the needling is his way of getting even. One of these days I hope you get sick of yourself and go to a doctor and ask to be put on a sensible diet. When you begin to shed those unhealthy, unattractive pounds, your hus-band will like you better, and you'll like yourself better, too. Ann Landers: We are not calling you "Dear" Ann Landers because we don't think you are dear. We think you are just rotten. This letter is being written by three twelve-year-old women who will never read your crummy column again as long as we live. Your advice to the mother who wrote and asked if her thirteen-year-old daughter should be allowed to go to a dance with a sixteen-year-old boy has made you a lot of enemies. Don't you know that some thirteen-year-old girls are very mature and have a lot of sense? Age isn't everything. I know better than that, and I won't be thirteen until July. We think you should get your brains out of mothballs and catch up with 1968 activities or turn your job over to a person who is living in this century. And just in case you think we are cheap, hoody girls, we would like you to know that we are all refined young ladies who come from very rich families.-Ex- Readers Dear Refined Ladies From Rich Families: Since you are no longer reading the column I don't expect you to see this, but perhaps someone will tell you about it. I want to congratulate you on the ladylike manner in which you expressed your-selves. I could tell right away that you girls were the last word in refinement. The advice stands.