DEAR MISS MANNERS: As wonderful as graduation is, it is driving me crazy. I am absolutely baffled about how to write a proper thank-you note for the material and monetary gifts that I am receiving.

I hate receiving thank-you cards to the effect of, "Thank you for the lovely (blank). I will put it to good use. Thanks again."

They have always seemed very insincere to me, but I have no clue what else to write! I need some form of outline to address any gift from $5 to a picture frame to $100 to a piece of furniture, etc. Please, help!

GENTLE READER: Rote letters are bad, Miss Manners agrees, but she must warn you that sincere ones can be worse. Sincerity is responsible for the etiquette crime of admitting that a present is disappointing and needs to be exchanged.

Good thank-you letters are about the writer's feelings for the present and for the donor. But even if these happen to be positive, they will require artificial enhancement. You don't say, "I liked the frame," but that you were thrilled by it; not "The $5 will come in handy," but, "I was touched by your generous remembrance." And for $100, you can make it "extremely generous."

DEAR MISS MANNERS: I live in a fabulous European city that most people only dream of visiting. My question, alas, relates to moochers.

Not infrequently, people call me up or write me to announce, "We're coming to your (fabulous European) city! Can we stay with you for 10 days/two weeks/one month?"

Sometimes they don't even ask whether they can stay with me -- they just assume that the answer will be yes and make their plans accordingly. Recently, a friend of mine, a European, announced that she and her husband have 10 days' vacation, and it would be a "good time" for them to come here. She added that wherever it was they decided to go, they would have to have free lodging. (They just returned from two weeks in Miami, where they did not have free lodging.)

My apartment is 78 square meters and has one bathroom. However, even if it were a palatial residence, I still think that two weeks is too much. We are all in our mid-30s, and we all have jobs.

My general rule of thumb for visitors is that one person who has come specifically to see me (and not just for a free hotel) can stay for a week to 10 days. Two people can stay for no more than four days, and if they have children or dogs, less than that.

Is that unreasonable? Am I too rigid? I am single but would never dream of staying in anyone's home for more than a few days, and in fact, I generally opt for a hotel when possible.

I should add that most visitors, although they are getting free food and lodging, seem to get wallet amnesia when I'm doing the tour-guide bit around town and country. Whether it's a cappuccino or a sumptuous dinner, when it's time to pay the bill, they decide to visit the facilities.

Am I a misanthrope? Or are my would-be guests out of line?

GENTLE READER: Sounds more to Miss Manners as if they are forming a line around your block. And who can blame them, as you are offering free vacations?

All right, you are not exactly offering. However, accepting reservations upon request amounts to the same thing.

Miss Manners fears that in learning the language of your country of residence, you may have forgotten how to say no. The polite way is, "Oh, I'm so sorry, I can't have you here, do call me, though, and we'll get together." Preferably this is delivered in advance, although if you have no warning, it can also be said on the doorstep.

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DEAR MISS MANNERS: Do you have any ideas about how to tell people gently and pleasantly that they are not on the invitation list to your daughter's wedding?

I have now put on weddings for two daughters and will be doing so again for another daughter. I was very surprised to learn that people of one's acquaintance assume that they will be invited and are personally hurt when they learn that they are not on the list.

Example conversation with a friend:

He: So, what's going on with you?

Me: I'm very excited. My daughter is engaged!

He: When is the wedding?

Me: (date)

He: Great! I'll put it down on the calendar, and we'll be sure to be there.

Me: Uh ... duh ... hmmm ... um. Actually, I think my daughter and her fiance are planning to invite only people they know, you know, like their friends and family.

He: Well, aren't you inviting your friends, too?

Me: Well, yes, but only our good friends. (Ouch.) I mean people who have known the girls growing up or people who have met them before. (Oh, well, so much for that friendship.)

Another example:

Acquaintance of my daughter: Hey, I hear you got married!

Daughter: Yes, in April.

Acquaintance: Well, I had to find out from Charlotte. I was really surprised you got married and didn't invite me.

Daughter: We had a small wedding and invited mostly family and close friends.

Acquaintance: But you invited Charlotte. I always thought you and I were close.

And so it goes. I had had no idea that people assumed weddings were free-for-alls with everyone from the highways and byways of your life invited. Some people are simply rude and can be snubbed, but others are genuinely hurt and puzzled that you do not consider them to be among your close friends.

I have tried reiterating that we have big families, that the girls prefer small weddings, but nothing seems to make a difference. Can you come up with a response that doesn't hurt people's feelings?

GENTLE READER: Which feelings are those? Miss Manners has trouble believing in the emotional delicacy of people who demand invitations to private events and then brush off the very euphemisms designed to spare them the embarrassment they are causing.

She does, however, admire your delicacy -- just enough to commend you for it, but not enough to recommend your giving in to social blackmail. In addition to whatever reasons you originally had to omit these people from the guest list, you now have two more: They are careless about your feelings, and they have no compunction about violating social rules. These are not good harbingers of how they would behave at the wedding.

While you should certainly be gentle, rather than as blunt and rude as they, Miss Manners will allow you to be as oblivious to hints as they are. No matter what they say, just keep repeating, "You're so kind to take an interest."

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Does today's standard for a good father require him to be a good mother?

Miss Manners hastens to explain that she does not define "mothering" as putting up with one's own children to the extent of feeding them, airing them, listening to them, mopping up after them, explaining life to them and forcing them to write letters of thanks.

That is called parenting. No matter how many societies have held fast to the idea that this is a job description only for mothers, that is surely peculiar and contrary to nature. If such were the case, it would have been designed as either a day shift or a night shift, but not both.

As it is, child-rearing is an all-hands-on-deck, all-leaves-canceled-for-18-years undertaking. Attempts to spread the fun between those responsible for creating the children in the first place (and anyone else they can gang-press into participating) are therefore a needed corrective. Miss Manners is troubled only by the literal-minded spirit in which new parents now approach this.

She has been teaching herself not to cringe when a young gentleman says, "We are pregnant." It is sweetly meant, and surely an improvement, in both attitude and approximation of reality, on another statement one still occasionally hears: "She got herself pregnant."

Miss Manners does not even argue with the observation that it is unfair for mothers to bear, as it were, that entire burden. Nevertheless, as all the experimentation in matters of fertility has not even attempted to distribute pregnancy equally between parents, we have to deal with it.

She would have thought that the traditional compensation, whereby the father-to-be was expected to summon patience, tolerance and energy to deal with discomfort and whims on the part of the mother-to-be would be sufficient. Daily (and nightly) drilling in sympathizing, fetching and mopping up happens to be excellent training for parenthood.

If it seems superfluous for them also to participate in whatever exercise or other classes the expectant mother deemed necessary, it is nevertheless touching. Perhaps it provides a deeper sympathy, and in any case, it solves the problem of what to do between dropping her off and picking her up.

But the father-as-mother concept has turned all but compulsory for any prospective father who is not actually denying his connection and demanding DNA testing instead. Sympathizing is no longer considered enough to demonstrate his good will: He is assigned to be the coach, as well the photojournalist, and his presence and participation in the birth itself are hardly optional.

Miss Manners has nothing to say against this when it has the enthusiastic consent of all the adults involved -- father, mother and medical attendants -- and they promise not to subject innocent people to the video. As many ladies have come to regard giving birth as sport, or work of art, or religious experience, it is not implausible that their gentlemen have, as well.

But she worries about those who do not, and yet are afraid of disqualifying themselves as good fathers at the very start. Intimate physical phenomena, especially those involving witnessing pain, and even more especially those involving witnessing pain being endured by someone the witness loves, are not for everyone. Even experienced doctors do not participate in the treatment of their relatives.

Miss Manners' Father's Day message is directed to expectant mothers: A man can be a wonderful father even if he sits outside and waits.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: I feel awfully silly asking this question, but what is the proper response to, "I'm sorry"?

I usually find myself saying, "Don't worry about it," or "It's OK," neither of which I typically mean. "Apology accepted" sounds so sterile and, at least to my ears, has the ring of moral condemnation, which I also rarely intend to express.

GENTLE READER: Miss Manners gathers that you want a statement that will make you seem gracious but produce no relief to the person who made the apology. Is that about the size of it?

Short of "My seconds will call on you in the morning" (modern version: "You'll hear from my lawyer"), the reply to an apology is some version of, "That's quite all right." If you want nuances, you will have to practice the tone.

Rushing the words out as if you were embarrassed means, "Oh, goodness, I didn't think anything of it," while spacing each word and emphasizing them equally means, "I was wondering when you would get around to realizing the enormity of what you did."

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