That’s perfectly reasonable and understandable. I’m sure in a perfect world, Julia Roberts and other celebrities would prefer not to need bodyguards! And if the economy gets much worse, kidnapping might become even more "the rage!"

Love your columns and postings, Liz, always have!

Who or what is a Laura Ingraham?

The words "tempest" and "teabag" spring to mind.

As Molly Bloom would say, YES YES YES.

Yes, he’s so wonderful. Did you ever see him on Father Ted? And what about Ardal O’Hanlon. Another sexy beast.

I need to develop more sympathy for those who lost money with Madoff. However, when I read another article about "Madoff’s victims," I can’t help but think, he didn’t have "victims," he had "volunteers."

Since losing my husband four years ago, I haven’t found a man who "trips my trigger" the way he did, although I’ve been out with a few. None has even been remotely "spongeworthy." So a friend suggested a time-tested exercise; make a list of the qualities I DO want in a man — but then the challenge is to EMBODY those qualities myself, on the theory that like calls to like. Well, that’s about the only reason I can see for such a list. This guy sounds like a jackass. Strike him off YOUR list, pronto.

My friend Lydia had many cool toys, an in-home grandmother, a glamorous mother, and the large box of Crayolas with the sharpener in the back of the box. She also got the 1959 "original" Barbie, with black and white striped maillot. I broke its neck. Not in a "preppie killer" kind of way, but I’m willing to hazard a guess there was a bit of jealousy involved. I think I did it by accident. The Broken-Neck Barbie episode is really emblematic of my entire childhood relationship with Lydia’s mother. I REALLY wanted to play with those Crayolas. I really wanted a house with a backyard instead of an apartment with too many relatives crammed into it. I really wanted my Grannie to be like Lydia’s, sweet, and loving, and HERE in the USA. I wanted these things so much and I was willing to assume the role Lydia’s glamorous mother assigned me. She freely rebuked me, she insulted me, she punished me by throwing away my toys, she made me wash walls she claimed I’d marked. She’d say, in her thrilling and exotic Costa Rican accented English: "Ay, Helen. Don’t be so UGLY!" And I went back, and back, and back, and I never complained to my mother, except when she asked what happened to the toys Magda had thrown away. Barbie is bound up with the sad, toadying, desirious, unconfident, ugly-feeling little girl that lives inside of me still!

My second husband was on disability when I met him and never worked a day in the almost five years we were married. He introduced two new things into my life: Indian food and a certain kind of sex. (If you’re eating a lot of Indian food, God help you with the certain kind of sex.) He died in my arms after a massive abdominal hemmorhage, a result of chronic alcoholism. That was four years ago last month. I wish he were still alive, and if in order to make that happen I had to agree to all of Bewildered husband’s requests, I’d be willing to try. I miss him, with all his flaws.

But hey, that’s just me.

My husband of 26 years fell in love with another woman. Was I always a good wife? No. Was he always a good husband? No. But we had a marriage, and a family, and I was prepared to spend the rest of my life with him and our family into the future. I was an active alcoholic for most of our marriage, and he had a black belt in codependency. So it wasn’t a picturebook marriage, but it had its share of good times and bad. The bad, I guess, was enough to make him need someone else to spend the second half of his life with; so it goes.

Fast-forward 10 years. He is still married to his second wife. I am now widowed after having had a too-brief second marriage. Husband One’s and my three sons and I have a wonderful time together, and they have brought two marvelous daughters-in-law and a total of five grandchildren into my life. I get to see them and enjoy meaningful relationships with them all. I am now a sober member of AA, which means I try to live my life on spiritual principles, including that of forgiveness.

Ex-husband and oldest son have a terrible ongoing estrangement, which pains everyone involved. As a result, Ex hasn’t seen his grandchildren from that son for at least three years. My son and his wife won’t be in the same room with him, yada yada yada. But I know the pain it would cause me if I didn’t have those children in my life. I know that Ex is a good and flawed man. So (with my son’s and his wife’s permission), I recently arranged a day out at a park where my Ex and his wife and I could play with the grandchildren. When it was time to go, I hugged my Ex and his wife, which was reciprocated, if bemusedly. That day gave my Ex much pleasure, which he expressed privately to me later. It heartened me to know that I was instrumental in increasing his happiness. I hope to continue to do so.

If I hadn’t forgiven Ex and "her," none of us would have had this healing experience. Without forgiveness, I will drink again. I’ve learned that. Holding on to wrongs done me is like picking up a hot coal to hurl at someone. Who gets burned?