DEAR MISS MANNERS: Perhaps you saw an article about a couple who had a modest wedding, where the bride is quoted as saying, "My attitude was, take Miss Manners and throw her out the window."

(I believe she was referring to the proverbial Miss Manners, and not your august personage.)

What distressed me about this was not that the bride was presented as an anomaly, because she clearly is, but that the couple's decisions were portrayed as almost freakishly anti-etiquette. Imagine -- planning your wedding in only three months! Establishing a budget and sticking to it! Paying for the event yourselves! No monogrammed bar napkins! Buying your attendants' dresses secondhand! Accepting a donated cake from a relative! No cash bar! Decorating the hall yourselves! Assuring your guests that you already had everything and no gifts were necessary!

In the words of the groom, "We believe in spending what you can afford. It's not about impressing people. Our thing was to have a nice party and celebrate our marriage." The only impropriety I noted was the bride's directing people to give her cash toward some living-room furniture or donate it to a charity if they couldn't bring themselves to skip giving a gift.

In fact, her wedding struck me as deeply proper, if propriety is defined as staging a modest wedding that pleases you and your guests, and does not place your friends and family in some sort of indentured servitude. Indeed, the whole affair sounded curiously old-fashioned.

GENTLE READER: Thank you for saving Miss Manners' life.

She did see the article. Fearing that her life's work of fighting vulgarity, greed and pretentiousness had come to naught, and that the powerful propaganda of the wedding industry had succeeded in conveying the belief that etiquette condemns consideration, modesty and prudence, Miss Manners was going to save the bride the trouble of tossing her out the window. She was going to jump.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: Upon learning that I had found a new job, a former boss sent me a congratulatory note that included the phrase, "We miss you here."

I would have welcomed this sentiment, except that she was the one who had terminated my prior employment. So far I've been a good sport about her power-play-disguised-as-layoffs. Must I continue to hold my tongue?

GENTLE READER: Have you considered the possibility that your former boss does miss you, regrets having let you go, and is paving the way for someday wooing you back?

Miss Manners can hardly think of a more satisfactory impression for a terminated employee to leave. "They'll miss me when I'm gone" is surely the fantasy of everyone who feels unfairly treated.

However, you can probably fix that, as well as any chance of your needing her recommendation or wanting to work there ever again. An unleashed stream of rudeness would be a comfortable reminder that she no longer has to deal with you.

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Eeew, disgusting!

That is the noise made by one faction in the historic division between spitters and non-spitters. Miss Manners apologizes that she is incapable of imitating the noise made by the other faction, even for purposes of academic discussion.

After raging for several centuries as an issue dividing nations, cultures, classes and genders, the once ferocious dispute had been calmed. Or so Miss Manners fondly imagined until the SARS epidemic brought it up again.

China, one of the few places where the previously-pretty-much-universal custom of spitting has continued to be practiced, is now engaged in a public campaign to suppress -- or at least contain -- it. The government, whose official venues were furnished with spittoons, has pronounced spitting a "vile habit" as well as a health hazard. But because people are having trouble giving it up, plastic spitting bags are being distributed to limit their range.

All this should sound familiar to Americans, and not just because of the similarity to our public campaign against smoking. It is not yet a hundred years since Americans were considered the world's most incorrigible spitters, and not half that time since spittoons were a prominent feature of the United States Capitol's decor.

In 19th-century America, horses may have made larger donations to the muck covering the streets, but people managed to contribute a sizeable share. Indoors, the only rivalry was between those who merely spit phlegm and those who created a more colorful effect by spitting tobacco. The slime in which office floors, hotel lobbies, theater carpets, church pews and marble hallways were awash was constantly being replenished.

And foreigners were saying, "Eeew, disgusting!"

English visitors were particularly scornful, as their own fastidious compatriots had recently taken to spitting into their handkerchiefs. But in the 18th century, Europeans still had to be admonished to refrain from spitting on dinner tables and drawing room walls.

Miss Manners' interest in the historic progression from spit to sneer is not to promote tolerance for a decidedly uncharming gesture just because there have been periods and places that failed to condemn it.

Rather, she would like to point out that the arguments that were used to justify open spitting should be generally discounted as refutations of etiquette. They are the same ones that one hears now in defense of any annoyance:

1. It's healthy.

Before it was noticed that spitting was helping to spread tuberculosis and now SARS, it was touted as being good for the health. It stood to reason that getting rid of all that nasty phlegm would improve the constitution.

Now that we produce studies to show how unhealthy spitting (and every other human activity) is, this argument has moved to the shiftier area of mental health. The ingenious notion arose that exercising self-restraint has terrible medical consequences.

2. It's natural.

This is a favorite argument of people unfamiliar with the term "natural disaster." Or, to keep it in the range of human impulse, that it is apparently natural for human beings to cross against the light, gorge on chocolate and fall in love with heartless people. There are medical conditions that prompt spitting, but it is not the usual case, and anyway, it can be done discreetly.

3. It's fun.

This was the last ditch argument when ladies had given up the habit and were tired of dragging their skirts through the results of contests among those who felt spittoons were for sissies. What is fun to some but disgusting to others should be done in private.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: When I was hit by a drunk driver a few years ago, it was a chaotic day, and I forgot to call my hairstylist to cancel my appointment. That evening, she called and yelled at me that no one misses her appointments, and that being hit by a drunk driver was no excuse to miss my appointment.

I finally hung up on her. Miss Manners, that stylist not only lost my business, but the business of the rest of my family. Rudeness (on either side) is unacceptable.

GENTLE READER: Whew. Miss Manners thought she was tough, with her dictum that it is unforgivable to break a dinner engagement unless -- got that "unless"? -- you are run over by a truck.

Your decision to break off business relations strikes Miss Manners as wise. One should never offer one's head to a rude person wielding sharp instruments.

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DEAR MISS MANNERS: Just when one is delighting in the flexibility that modern life offers, one comes smack up against a range of situations to which flexible, modern etiquette seems to have no answers. I am at an etiquette dead-end and see no way of avoiding hurt to people I care for. The choice seems to be only in who will be hurt.

I had a partner for a number of years and we parted, on officially cordial terms, last year when he moved in with the married man he had been seeing for some months. I have worked assiduously to maintain relationships with my former partner's family, whom I had grown quite close to, and the desire for continued contact with them is mutual.

Now, my dear and wonderful daughter will be married later this year and, while I would very much like to share the occasion with my former in-laws, it seems churlish and pointedly mean to invite them and not their son, my former partner; yet you can easily understand that I will not invite him and his (still-married) boyfriend. While nothing could ruin the joy of that occasion, having them there would come close.

It would strain anything that could be labeled an honest relationship with my former in-laws not to mention that my daughter is getting married, yet I can hardly talk happily about the occasion and not include people whose lives I've shared for many years.

Should I just say, "Look, this is so awkward, but I can't invite you and not X, and I'm not comfortable inviting X and Y. I hope you can understand." Is there a way to avoid this train-wreck?

GENTLE READER: You could omit them all, but you cannot tell Miss Manners that this train-wreck -- uh, problem -- is a new one. Weddings are constantly bringing together people's exes and their subsequent mates, and the rule is to endure it politely. There is one special circumstance here, however, and Miss Manners is afraid you are going to love it:

Married people must be invited as couples, so you could invite your former partner's new partner with his wife.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: When I go into the kitchen at work, I often find the microwave idle but containing someone else's lunch. People tend to forget about their lunches, or are unavoidably detained, and do not return for quite some time.

I am in the habit of just removing the container and setting it aside so that I may use the microwave for myself. I am careful not to stick my fingers in the food or spill anything.

On one occasion, I overheard a co-worker tell another, "Hey, somebody moved your lunch!" I didn't say anything, seeing nothing wrong with what I had done.

Who is at fault here, the person who selfishly monopolizes the microwave during the lunch hour, or the person who selfishly shoves the offending entree aside?

GENTLE READER: Ah, the great laundry room problem, moved to the office kitchen. Miss Manners is grateful that you didn't dump the offending meal on the floor, as apartment dwellers sometimes do with their neighbors' underwear, in order to use the machines.

Never mind fault, as there needn't be any here. And the remedy -- the food's owner reheating it when he returns -- is right there.

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