In the past, we've chosen to avoid our friends' parents as they both are drunks, and the husband talks nonstop and has roaming hands. Unfortunately, my husband and I have become their favorite neighbors and they often come over in the early evening to chat. They rarely leave, even when we tell them we have to eat dinner. They will tell us, "Go ahead. We'll entertain ourselves," which they do with the booze they brought. Sometimes I sense they are snooping around while out of our line of sight, so I often invite them to eat with us so we can keep an eye on them.

Annie, the man creeps me out. He only talks about what he owns and who he knows. But the worst part is he always positions himself near me and finds some reason to squeeze past me in tight corners. He is very quick to brush off any crumb that appears on my blouse.

The wife is totally oblivious to what is going on. I have discussed this with my husband, and we don't know how to avoid this couple. Even telling them we don't have time to visit doesn't deter them. If we close the door or walk away, they say they'll be back later. And they are.

Should I talk to our friends and ask for help with their parents? — Can't Stand Our Neighbors in Nuevo, Calif.

Dear Nuevo: We doubt your friends can help. You must be more direct. Tell your intrusive neighbors that you need time to unwind when you get home and you cannot have visitors. Every single time they pop in unexpectedly, tell them it's inconvenient and close the door. If you do it consistently, they will find their entertainment elsewhere. And if the husband gets too friendly, say in a loud voice, "Please keep your hands off me." In order for them to leave you alone, you must make your home less inviting.

Dear Annie: I am 92 years old. I was married to the most wonderful man for 70 years. We adored each other. A year ago, he began to have problems walking. Then came a cane, a walker and, just before he died, a wheelchair. Every night I walked the floor crying, knowing he would soon be leaving me. A month before he died, he was in and out of a coma. Brokenhearted, I was forced to send him to a nursing home. I visited him every day from morning until night.

When he died in my arms, I was crying, yet I had this overwhelming wave of relief. I cry every time I think of him and am consumed with guilt. Please help me. — Suffering in Florida