Dear Abby

March 13, 1968

Dear Harold, I think I'll call you Alley Oop because you're a caveman. Whack the woolly mammoth with a club, drag it home and voila! the little woman makes dinner while you chill in front of the TV with an adult beverage. I'm not going to get all "Our Bodies, Ourselves" on you,  but you really need to dump those Archie Bunker expectations. Apparently cooking was not the first thing on your mind when you administered the Pre-Wife Aptitude Test. You could spend the next 48 years of your marriage eating takeout from the Chinese restaurant down the street. Or you can start cooking TOGETHER. Think of it as a good cooperation-building exercise that will let you work up to more sensitive subjects like "Are we going to spend Christmas with your folks or mine?" ... Dear Perplexed, There will come a day when people aren't the least bit shy about sharing their most intimate details on the phone ... Dear Mother, Frankly, I'd prefer somebody drive the car rather than have it up on blocks in the backyard for a couple of years. He's got enough to worry about given the chances of being sent to Vietnam without you hassling him about his car ... Dear Confidential, Why did the masked violinist leave the room when Jack said the word "hacienda?"

Comments

[Michael in LA]

Guess I'm a caveman too, because I think Harold's gripe isn't a sexist diatribe. The poor guy is at work all day, his wife doesn't work and they have no kids. Asking for a good meal is pre-historic?

Forget the marriage counselor. I'd get some advice from a couple with a non-working, good-cooking wife, and a happy husband who didn't feel compelled to write Dear Abby...

Eh, what do I know... I was a year old when that column was written...