DEAR MISS MANNERS: Media coverage has made it a tough time to be a Catholic.

As a weekend guest, I slipped out early to attend Sunday mass, and when I returned, the other guests were up and gathering for brunch. My host began asking me embarrassing questions about whether the "scandals" had me question my support of the Church and whether I feel there are any priests I know of who have been involved, or if I know any victims.

I was a coward and did not defend my faith. Instead, I made an excuse about being needed by my hostess in the kitchen and left the room.

Since this is bound to happen again, can you provide a snappy retort for me and fellow Catholics?

GENTLE READER: "Do you think I should I join a religion that never deals with human sin? But then, of course, there would be the question of whether I'd be eligible."

If that is snappy enough for you, perhaps you will allow Miss Manners to make some serious points.

One is that you need never explain or defend your religion. Excusing yourself from the room, as you did, makes the point, but you can also do this by gently replying that your religion is not something you discuss socially. Some of your friends may then dimly recall that there is an etiquette rule against doing so, but, at any rate, you need not be embarrassed about refusing to be drawn in.

Another is that public concern with questions of criminal abuse of authority does not constitute an attack on your faith, but on individuals who have violated its dictates.

Finally, Miss Manners agrees that wholesale indictments, such as you found implied in your friends' questions, are offensive. That is why you should not blame problems of serious misbehavior on the legitimate "media coverage" of them.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: I was taught that when one writes out numbers (or says them aloud), one should not include the word "and" except to denote decimals. For example, the number 832 should be written "eight hundred thirty-two," not "eight hundred and thirty-two."

Wedding invitations, however, seem to ignore this rule. The date of the wedding is spelled out, and 2002 inevitably becomes "two thousand and two." My mother and I argued over this for quite a while, and since I was unable to find examples of invitations that left out the "and," she won. (There are more important things to argue about, anyway.) I would like to know how you think the year should be put into print on invitations.

GENTLE READER: Miss Manners is happy to hear that you have more important things to argue about, because everybody you mention loses -- you, your mother and all who issued those wedding invitations.

The year does not belong on the invitation at all, as it should be obvious that one is not being invited to an event some years in advance. Similarly, it is not necessary to specify morning, afternoon or evening, as one should not expect people to attend weddings at such times as six in the morning or 11 at night.

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At the risk of being taken for an Edwardian sneering at Victorians, Miss Manners must say that society's prudery is not only ridiculous but dangerously repressive.

Everyone knows the facts of life. We all know that everybody does it, for heaven's sake. So why pretend otherwise?

And how is it possible to act as if a universal aspect of life doesn't exist, while all the while thinking of little else? People are all worried about themselves obsessively and dying of curiosity about everyone else.

Anyone who thinks that Miss Manners is talking about sex has a dirty mind, if she may be permitted so quaint an expression in an era when that activity is so commonly exposed that it has trouble making a living selling cars and beer.

Aging is the fact of life to which she is referring.

We are so much in denial about the plain fact that people keep growing older as to have sabotaged the manners by which age accrues respect, and to have invented conventions that our most straitlaced ancestors would denounce as ludicrous and hypocritical.

The dignity and privileges of age, including precedence, respect and tolerance for stories that have been told before, have vanished. Old people are themselves responsible for swatting down these benevolent attitudes, after which that last item fell of its own accord.

But, of course, they are not old people. There is no such thing. The only stages we now recognize are young, young-at-heart and dead.

This explains why it has become customary for people to assure one another that they mistake them for much younger than they are, all the while trying to find out how much older they are than they pretend to be.

Umbrage is taken if this fiction is exposed, even by a show of courtesy, such as yielding a seat or using the deferential terms "sir" and "ma'am." In the interests of sustaining the illusion that time stands still, our suspiciously worn-looking youth have killed whatever courtesies their juniors were required to show them.

Small wonder that another thing that fell of its own accord was the assumption that experience counts, and that the young have something to learn from those who have been around longer.

Giving up consideration and authority would be a better bargain if it worked. It is undeniable that age has a disadvantage compared to youth: a more limited future. But it doesn't work. No one is fooled -- neither the real young nor the natural life cycle. We have given up the fairest system we have for allotting privileges for nothing.

Furthermore, this charade offends those who are mature enough to accept and enjoy the different stages of life. The flattery involved is transparent and patronizing. Exclamations such as, "You look more like a high school kid than a teacher" and "I thought you were his older brother, not his father" may be meant as compliments, but they contain digs at professional competence and family dignity.

To be told that one is what one is obviously not -- as when a smart woman is told that she "thinks like a man" or an American that being cultured makes him seem more like a European -- denigrates what one actually is.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: I dined at a very formal French restaurant where everything was superb except, perhaps, my use of the silverware.

Before the first course was presented (a dish with a sauce), the waiter placed an unfamiliar piece of silverware at the top of my table setting. It looked like a flattened tablespoon with a small, curved point at the end. This utensil was again presented with the main course that also included a sauce.

I have to tell you that I used it to "scoop/scrape" and devour (silently and discreetly) the superb sauces. Was I correct or merely the subject of ridicule for the waiters?

GENTLE READER: You were correct about the utensil, which is that useful-if-somewhat-questionable item, a sauce spoon.

Whether you are also correct in your suspicion that the waiters were ridiculing you, Miss Manners cannot say. Surely, sneering at the customers among themselves for real or fancied reasons is one of the perks of being a waiter in a very formal French restaurant.

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DEAR MISS MANNERS: I recently got divorced and remarried -- rather quickly, I might add. This came suddenly and unexpectedly -- to everyone around me, that is.

I, of course, saw it coming for quite a while. Preferring not to air my dirty laundry, I kept my marital affairs private.

When I see people I haven't seen in quite some time, I introduce my new husband as, "This is -----, my husband."

Right in front of him, I get questions like, "Oh, aren't you married to ----- anymore?" or "Where is -----, your first husband?" or "Did something terrible happen to -----?"

This, of course, puts my new husband in an awkward situation. Being the sweetheart that he is, he says nothing. It doesn't bother him, but I get very upset.

Now, if I were in the other person's shoes, yes, I would be surprised by this quick change, and a million questions would run through my head. But, out of respect for this other person, I would never ask about the situation.

Am I wrong to think this is unacceptable behavior? Am I getting myself out of joint unnecessarily? I don't understand how people can be so ignorant. Isn't it obvious that I am not married to ----- anymore? How do I answer these people?

Until now, I have been answering them with, "That's a closed chapter of my life; on to better things. ...." followed by a quick change of the subject. Sometimes I am confronted with people who simply cannot take a hint and want to dig into the dirty details, "Well, what on earth happened to you two?"

I finally had my fill of it today. Is the way I've been answering this question proper?

GENTLE READER: Is your doubt based on the notion that a proper answer would have the effect of zapping a busybody?

Would that it were so.

However, lest that give you evil ideas, Miss Manners assures you that rude answers merely encourage busybodies to rephrase the rude content of their questions in rude language.

What works is the slow but relentless method that busybodies employ -- repetition. What you are saying is fine; you just may not be saying it often enough. Every time someone restates the question, you should restate your answer.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: Now in my 70s after a conservative upbringing, I receive calls from telemarketers who, although we have never met, begin by addressing me by my first name or even by the nickname Jim.

The callers sometimes become angry when I ask why they have chosen first-name intimacy in circumstances not warranting it. Once, when I hung up after posing that question and failed to receive a reply, the telemarketer called again and left an obscene message on the answering machine.

Solicitations bearing the salutation "Dear James" I simply return to the sender or discard. However, I would appreciate being informed of the correct way to respond to like-minded callers with whom, by my having answered the telephone, I have entered into a speaking relationship.

GENTLE READER: There is a quick and civil divorce obtainable from these relationships. All you need to do is to say, "Thank you, I'm not interested," and hang up.

Miss Manners holds no brief for unsolicited telephone calls and unsolicited intimacy, but she is afraid that unsolicited etiquette lessons are not justifiable, either.

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