Dear Ann Landers,
This letter is no gag. I look like Paul Newman, and it is ruining my life. I'm thirty years old, happily married, and the father of three children. I'm a steady church�goer. The girl who runs the elevator in this building takes me down to the basement, pushes the stop button, and tries to get friendly. The baby-sitter keeps asking me to kiss her good night when I drive her home because I am so "mature" and she is sick of high-school boys. When I stop at a lunch counter, women come over and ask for my autograph. I tell them they are mistaken, but they sit down and want to get acquainted. Yesterday my wife saw me having a cup of coffee with a beautiful young girl from the office who has been making a pest of herself lately. I may be in a little trouble at home. Please give me some help.--Case of Mistaken Identity

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