DEAR ABBY: Several months ago I wrote you using the name of a dear friend and longtime prankster, Michael Deibele of Portland, Ore. In it, "he" was writing about his hobby, baton twirling, and the fact he was receiving flak about it.

I, not Michael Deibele, wrote that letter. I thought that people who know Mike would read it, think it was funny (obviously a joke) and no one would be the wiser. I intended to use this harmless prank as a way of getting back at him for years of practical jokes.

Instead, my friend Mike has received homophobic crank calls and a lot of unwanted attention from the media. I feel terrible about this!

Abby, I need to clear up this situation, take blame where blame is due and apologize. I hope you will print my letter. -- JULIE WILBORN, PORTLAND, ORE.

DEAR JULIE: You have shown maturity by writing to set the record straight. Your letter illustrates the danger of practical jokes, the consequences of which can sometimes mushroom.

Since I published your original letter, I've been reminded that there exists an outdated public perception that certain activities are "masculine" or "feminine," and those who cross over and enjoy them are suspect. For example: Needlepoint has long been regarded as a woman's hobby. But Rosie Grier does it, and can hardly be classified as effeminate -- nor should male surgeons who sometimes do needlepoint to keep their fingers strong and nimble.

Professional dancing has been similarly classified. But no one would label Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, Mikhail Baryshnikov or Patrick Swayze "gay." The same goes for male hairdressers -- and anyone who doubts it should rent a video of the cult favorite, "Shampoo."

It is estimated that up to 10 percent of the population is homosexual. Homosexuals are represented in every profession, sport and hobby, whether they choose to disclose it or not.

But I digress: Until this unfortunate incident, Michael Deibele told me, he was unaware of the extent to which homophobia has blossomed in the USA of the '90s. It should be unnecessary for Mike to explain that baton twirling is not and never has been a hobby of his, that it was a figment of your fertile imagination, and that he is the victim of a practical joke. Not only have there been homophobic phone calls, but also calls from male friends who assure him, "We're with you all the way" with a knowing chuckle, and numerous calls from the national media asking to interview him about "his hobby."

I apologize to Mr. Deibele for the part I unwittingly played in this unfortunate incident. And in the future, I am asking readers who want their letters to be published to include a phone number that I can use for verification.

Practical joking is a hobby that BOTH of you should discontinue. He who lives by the sword dies by the sword.

DEAR ABBY: My husband joins a group of male friends every now and then for a "guy's day off." They get together for a day of fishing or golfing.

I don't mind this except for one little problem. The organizer invites his daughter's boyfriend to come along with the guys, and she shows up in short-shorts and tags along for the whole day. If the spouses let the men have this day for themselves, why can't the daughter stay home and let her boyfriend have fun without her? She can be with him afterward.

Abby, several of the men and most of the spouses would like to know how to handle this problem. -- NO WOMEN ALLOWED IN INDIANA

DEAR NO WOMEN ALLOWED: If one of you will clip this column and hand it to the organizer, the problem should be solved. If not, the guys should talk to the organizer and ask him to tell his daughter that this is strictly a guy thing, so she should make other plans for the day.

To receive a collection of Abby's most memorable -- and most frequently requested -- poems and essays, send a business-sized, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $3.95 ($4.50 in Canada) to: Dear Abby's "Keepers," P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, Ill. 61054-0447. (Postage is included.)

DEAR ABBY: My wife and I have been reading your column for years and always enjoy it. I would like to share with you my "lady luck" story.

In 1930 I went to a wedding celebration in the neighborhood. During the evening, one of the boys took a pair of sugar cubes and inked dots on them so they looked like dice. He said to another fellow and me, "Let's roll the dice to see who gets to walk Mary home and get a goodnight kiss." Mary agreed with a smile. I was tickled because I was "stuck" on her.

I won the dice game and walked Mary home. Being somewhat nervous I kept talking until she finally said, "Well, are you going to collect your kiss?" I did, and it was wonderful. I asked her to a dance the following weekend and that started our courtship. Remember, Abby, these were Depression years, so our courtship was very modest.

On April 8, 1934, we were married. This year, we celebrated our 62nd anniversary. When our doctor heard how long we've been married, he exclaimed, "That's remarkable. Some people don't live that long!"

Today we have three wonderful children, eight grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. They all adore "Grammy" because they have fond memories of her pampering them with treats such as turtle-shaped pancakes, chocolate-covered cookies, yummy fruit salad, etc.

We're both in our 80s now, but I will never forget the night "lady luck" really smiled on me! -- HANK SHOBAR, LARKSPUR, CALIF.

DEAR HANK: Thanks for the memories that will delight many readers who are old enough to appreciate them.

DEAR ABBY: Recently you told your readers that people don't write letters because they are busier now and communicate in ways that don't take that much time. I take issue with the statement about how busy people are today compared with a few years ago, and I submit this poem from The Bald Eagle, a newsletter of the Lecompton Historical Society of Lecompton, Kan. -- PAT CASTRO, RAMONA, CALIF.

MAMA'S MAMA

Mama's mama, on a winter's day,

Milked the cows and fed them hay,

Slopped the hogs, saddled the mule,

And got the children off to school.

Did a washing, mopped the floors,

Washed the windows and did some chores,

Cooked a dish of home-dried fruit,

Pressed her husband's Sunday suit.

Swept the parlor, made the bed,

Baked a dozen loaves of bread.

Split some wood and lugged it in,

Enough to fill the kitchen bin,

Cleaned the lamps and put in oil,

Stewed some apples she thought might spoil,

Churned the butter, baked a cake,

Then exclaimed, "For goodness sake!

The calves have got out of the pen!"

Went out and chased them in again.

Gathered the eggs and locked the stable,

Returned to the house and set the table.

Cooked a supper that was delicious,

And afterward washed all the dishes,

Fed the cat, sprinkled the clothes,

Mended a basket full of hose.

Then opened the organ and began to play,

"When You Come to the End of a Perfect Day."

For Abby's favorite family recipes, send a long, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $3.95 ($4.50 in Canada) to: Dear Abby, Cookbooklet No. 1, P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, Ill. 61054-0447. (Postage is included.)

DEAR ABBY: My mother, who is a young 79 years old, has started eating like an old cow with bad teeth! She never closes her mouth any more when she eats; she chews with her mouth wide open, making smacking noises with each chew. It is very unappetizing to sit across from her at mealtime. Mom is active socially and goes to lunch and dinner with friends, and I wonder how many of them find her eating habits offensive.

Mom never ate like this before. In fact, when I was growing up, she often said, "Chew with your mouth closed!" Abby, I don't want to say anything to her because she doesn't take criticism well. I'm afraid if I said something to her, I'd get the silent treatment for about a week.

Maybe if she reads this in your column, she will recognize herself. I hope so, because not only is it unpleasant to sit across the table from her at dinnertime, I fear she will soon be excluded from lunch and dinner dates with her ladyfriends. -- A LOVING SON

DEAR SON: Don't wait for Mom to recognize herself in my column. Be a truly loving son and take her to a dentist who specializes in older adults.

DEAR ABBY: Perhaps you or one of your readers can tell me why so many people are reluctant to use the guest towels in the homes of people they visit.

I have a basket with soft pink paper towels on the counter next to the sink, but rarely does anybody use one.

Instead, I see "used" places on the heavy pink bath towels that hang from the towel bars. I can understand their preference not to use the terry towel that's there, but why do they shun paper and go for the freshly laundered bath towels? I feel I need to launder them again so they will be fresh for the family.

I've considered displaying a little sign saying "Please use the guest towels," but I'm afraid that would look tacky.

Abby, have others noticed the same thing in their homes? I'd love to understand people's thinking, or hear any suggestions you have. Sign me ... TIRED IN TUCSON

DEAR TIRED: Yes. It's happened to me. I've even had guests dry their hands on the bathroom window curtains rather than use a guest towel.

Five years ago, I published a letter from Mildred Lutz of Wichita, Kan., who asked the same question. I responded with a poem from another reader who had grown tired of having guests ignore her pretty little guest towels ... and here's the poem:

A GUEST TOWEL SPEAKS

by Mabel Craddock, Ventura, Calif.

Please use me, Guest;

Don't hesitate.

Don't turn your back

Or vacillate.

Don't dry your hands

On petticoat,

On handkerchief,

Or redingote.

I'm here to use;

I'm made for drying.

Just hanging here

Gets very tiring.

For everything you need to know about wedding planning, order "How to Have a Lovely Wedding." Send a business-sized, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $3.95 ($4.50 in Canada) to: Dear Abby, Wedding Booklet, P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, Ill. 61054-0447. (Postage is included.)