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It is always a good idea to prudently hold your tongue if in danger of putting your foot in it. My apologies - mixed metaphors, but you know what I mean. I should have known better than to comment adversely on the length of my husband's new shorts as he is notoriously sensitive re sartorial matters, having grown up in a large family in a small town where it mattered greatly what the neighbors said behind your back. Consequently, instead of one pair of pants to shorten, I now have six. In the same vein, but with more serious potential consequences, I have managed a degree of self-control concerning rumors which are rampantly circulating the family like wild-fire (sorry again, not my day for language), re one of the in-laws. I have stoutly refused to comment or judge the unfortunate individual who is blithely unaware of the subterranean talk, even though I was recently in a position to pass on the gossip and demand verification thereof face to face. Something made me hold my tongue, namely, the uncomfortable feeling that I would merely be stirring the pot and causing more unhappiness all round. I have decided to await the passing of time. Perhaps the real truth will never emerge. No matter. Let us all move on. I shall try to forget the whole sorry affair. Meanwhile, to the sewing machine! Let me mind my own business.