DEAR MISS MANNERS: When referring to the relationship between two men who have undergone a marriage or commitment ceremony, is it most proper to call them "husbands," "spouses" or "partners"?

It seems as if the word "partner" is popular in referring to people who have a relationship, but have not necessarily formalized it with a ceremony. The greater level of commitment signified by the service seems to necessitate the use of a different term, much as after a traditional marriage ceremony those who were formerly "boyfriend/girlfriend" or "fiances" become "husband/wife."

GENTLE READER: Oh, no, here we go again. Even aside from the fact that everybody keeps referring to the affianced as "fiances," the terminology of couple-hood has been driving Miss Manners crazy for years.

It is true that we seem finally to have settled on "partner" to describe the parties to an unmarried living arrangement, but not without years and years of trying out icky alternatives such as "significant other" and POSSLQ (the government's idea of a catchy way of saying People of Opposite Sex Sharing Living Quarters). "Partner" is not a great choice, as one might have law partners, business partners and dance partners with whom one wouldn't dream of going home, but at least it is pronounceable.

So use "spouse," "husband" or "wife" for both -- but no new words, please.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: I make a trip to visit my grandparents once or twice a year, and this year my grandmother had gone through heart surgery. She was well upon the way to recovery in rehab when I arrived.

I was greeted at the house by Berna, my grandparents' housekeeper and an old family friend. It being a dreadfully hot summer, Berna told me that my grandmother had said I was to stay in her (my grandmother's) air-conditioned bedroom while she was away.

Miss Manners, I couldn't accept that offer. It seemed innately disrespectful for me to sleep in my hostess's bed, and I would feel ashamed and somewhat embarrassed to do so. Berna was persistent, and I managed to refuse through a combination of timeworn banter and outright pleading that I be allowed to stay in one of the guestrooms. I also refused Berna's offer to move the fan from her own room to mine.

Was I in the wrong to refuse the hospitality offered? As it turns out, the empty guestroom in which I usually stay already had a fan, so I spent my nights comfortably regardless. Please, what was the proper way to deal with the situation? Was there anything else I could have done?

GENTLE READER: Although Miss Manners is as touched by your reverential reticence as she is sure your grandmother and her housekeeper were, there is something else you could have done: You could have done what you were told.

Your idea was to avoid seeming to supplant your grandmother while she is still alive. Miss Manners' idea goes slightly beyond that to indicate that she is not only alive, but in charge of making arrangements in her own home.

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DEAR MISS MANNERS: On a recent evening flight, the rows were mostly empty. I busied myself with work, and kept my nose in my laptop for most of the flight.

Once my battery had died, I looked up and around me. I could not help noticing a rather telltale set of not-very-discreet-at-all motions coming from a couple barely six feet away from me, the only other occupants of my row.

While I am hardly prudish, I was truly shocked and disgusted. Even after several pass-bys of the flight attendants, even after a few clearings of my suddenly itchy throat, the "frolicking" continued (to be a little clearer: this was far beyond the enthusiastic affections one might expect of honeymooners, for instance).

I avoided any kind of contact with them in those uncomfortable moments between landing and deplaning, and gladly went my own way after that. However, their rudeness left quite a sour pall over the rest of my evening, and I found myself really wishing I'd found something cleverly tart to say (actually, the click of a camera might have been perfect, as it seemed that exposure was their goal after all).

Usually, I prefer to answer rudeness with silence, but for such extraordinary circumstances, I still wish I'd said something on behalf of the flight crew, other passengers and myself. What is your opinion? What might you have said or done?

GENTLE READER: Miss Manners always brings a book, and never looks up. Perhaps this is just as well.

What did you have in mind? Tapping them on the shoulder -- whosever shoulder happened to appear within reach -- and asking to borrow their in-flight magazine? Expressing the hope that they were having a pleasant flight?

Miss Manners doesn't make citizen's arrests, even for indecency in transit. The only people with some authority over air passenger etiquette are the flight attendants. You might have suggested that one of them approach the couple and order them to fasten their seatbelts.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: When I went to our local indoor pool with my two young sons, a friend and her son, my friend pointed out a lady who had just arrived whose swimsuit was rather transparent when wet.

Would it have been appropriate for me to point out this reaction to water? If so, how would I go about it?

I am, of course, assuming that she was quite oblivious to the condition. However, the way she would climb onto the floating animal in the pool did not support this idea. I was not in the pool myself and she never left it. We left shortly after spotting the condition without saying a word to her.

GENTLE READER: Miss Manners is worried about the words that were said. She sincerely hopes that your friend did not point out the Totally Visible Lady within earshot of the young boys.

Whether the lady was oblivious or showing off, there was nothing she could have done about it in the middle of the pool. In the natural course of events, she will discover this herself in the dressing room and cherish the hope that nobody noticed -- or, if your suspicion is correct, that everybody did. Miss Manners considers it tactful to allow her that choice.

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"Every time you walk down the street, everybody says hello."

This is a statement that Miss Manners has heard in a variety of tones of voice:

Proud, as in "I come from a charming place! Folks in THIS city are soooo rude."

Plaintive verging on petulant, as in, "I come from a village, so don't expect me to be as sophisticated as all you cos-mo-pol-i-tan types."

Exasperated, as in "Is there no privacy around here at all?"

Rattled, as in "Who are these people, and what do they want from me?"

But if attitudes are contradictory about greeting and being greeted, etiquette rules are even more so. Hikers properly greet those approaching them on the trail, but tourists who happen to be visiting the same site do not. Passengers on airplanes used to introduce themselves, but no longer do; bus passengers sometimes do, only to find their seatmates making sudden departures.

It is not always a question of the friendly approach being polite and its omission being rude.

It would be rude, for example, to greet someone you know who is having a hilarious time with an incongruous-looking person and who covers his face with the menu when he sees you coming. This acquaintance is probably conducting important business, and cannot spare the time for social niceties.

Nor would it be polite to roam around parking lots at night offering greetings to strangers as they unlock their cars. Or for unrelated adults to hang around schoolyards saying hello to stray children.

Yet the excuse of "I'm just trying to be friendly" always resonates with Americans, for whom being open to friendship is a virtue.

This is not necessarily because we are bigger-hearted than others, although Miss Manners does not rule out that happy possibility. A country that began by staking out sparsely populated territory and has continued ever since to be an unusually mobile society has to condone making friends fast.

That was a huge departure from European customs, which Americans then began to ridicule as snobbish. It is not a fair charge, even though we needn't feel sorry for people who were having such a good time ridiculing Americans for being open.

Friendliness toward strangers is necessarily context-dependent. When you live in crowded cities, very likely spending your entire life in the same one with all your nursery school classmates, you don't need to make new friends at every turn. What you need from strangers is for them to please keep out of your way. And to refrain from scaring you.

You still must acknowledge those you know, those whom you frequently encounter, and those with whom you have even fleeting business transactions. In small towns or other restricted areas, such as a campus, that may mean nearly everyone; in large cities, it may mean very few, but it does include neighbors and shopkeepers.

Yet the tendency is either to chat up everyone, including the express-checkout clerk who is trying to move the line along ("And what about your cousins, are they fine, too?"), or to ignore next-door neighbors and tablemates at large social gatherings.

To cover these different situations, there is a range of greetings:

Dearest friends and close, but not necessarily dear, relatives: kiss air near cheek, once or serially, depending on local custom. Next circle, handshakes or equivalent gestures, depending on generation.

The same group encountered where silence is expected, for example at the movies or a funeral: Meaningful nod.

Household companions, neighbors, co-workers: acknowledgement upon arrival and departure, ranging from "Good morning" and "Good evening" to "Hi, is there some coffee made?" and "OK, I'm out of here."

Acquaintances glimpsed on the street: Pleasant nod without breaking stride.

Strangers: Maintain stride without breaking into a smile.

Strangers with whom one is trapped, as at a wedding dinner or shipwreck: Full introduction.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: A friend of mine is to be a bridesmaid in a wedding in October, when she will be eight months' pregnant. She would like to prepare some ripostes for those at the wedding who will find it necessary to comment on her pregnant state, which will be readily apparent. How do you suggest she handle the 37th instance of "Well, you're just about ready to pop, aren't you?"

GENTLE READER: By producing her most benign maternal smile and saying gently, "Yes, and you might want to step out of the way."

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