DEAR MISS MANNERS: My husband of 14 years and I, with our young children, participate in many social activities, and worship services, regularly throughout the year.

But, at Christmastime, my husband refuses to attend either of these. He explains that he is a real friend/congregant, and to go during Christmastime belittles the experiences for him; Christmas parties and services are for "amateurs," and therefore to be avoided.

In the past, I have either stayed home during these (to me) important events, or gone with my children without him. I do not wish to deprive my children of these experiences, or give the impression that Mama is nicer/holier than Dad.

Neither seems correct. Either way, I am the one left making excuses -- either why we were unable to attend, or where on earth my husband is. I once told the questioner to ask my husband when next they met, but, to my horror, he gave them the whole unvarnished truth as to his reasons, leaving them with the impression that he thought they were one of the said "amateurs"!

I now much prefer to make my own excuses, but what should they be, and should I stay or should I go?

GENTLE READER: Is there no freedom of religion at your house? And why do you think that going to Christmas festivities would make you appear holier than your husband, whose purism is what you find objectionable?

Miss Manners fails to see why you and your husband cannot disagree about Christmas celebrations. Why can't you each attend what you find meaningful? And why can't the children hear that there are two points of view here?

Miss Manners agrees that you should not have to make his excuses, and the solution of directing those who inquire to him would be fine if you can extract from him a slightly more polite explanation. A complicated theological one would be best, as it would lead to either a mutually respectful discussion or a hasty exit.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: Each year my husband and I host a Christmas party at our home for business associates and friends and family. I receive quite a few hostess gifts, but I am so busy greeting everyone, getting drinks and so on that I usually just set aside the gifts and open them at a later time.

Should I be taking the time to open the gift immediately and acknowledge it, or should I simply thank them and do as I usually do and set them aside to open later? I do feel rude doing this, but I am just so busy being the hostess with the mostest.

GENTLE READER: The little present you most need is a felt-tipped pen. Put it on a small table near the door where you can stash the presents, and as soon as you have thanked the new arrivals and sped them toward the drinks, scribble their names on the package. That way, you can send them charming little notes after the party. Miss Manners assures you that you need not feel wrong not to open the presents at the time, which might be embarrassing to those who did not bring anything.

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When the handkerchief went out of general use after centuries of faithful service, nobody even waved goodbye.

It would have been useless anyway. Bare wiggling fingers cannot be seen from the distance.

Nor was there a fond tear shed for this resourceful companion. That would have been foolhardy, as it would have necessitated the yucky gesture of dabbing at the face with wadded paper goods.

Fortunately for Miss Manners, handkerchiefs did not cease to exist just because a generation grew up without being able to figure out their use. Her problem of having goods she likes disappear from the marketplace -- white kid gloves, for example, or for that matter, short white cotton ones -- was not the case here. Handkerchiefs can still be found for sale, although not yet with instruction manuals. Goodness knows what the purchasers do with them, other than attempting to distract basketball players taking foul shots.

But there are many legitimate things you can do with them, which is why handkerchiefs were carried by both ladies and gentlemen for centuries. Even the two functions already mentioned are fraught with dramatic possibilities. Extending the visibility of hand signals is not limited to running along the train platform miming "I can't bear to let you out of my sight." It can also be for attracting attention while screaming, "You've got the keys! The keys, the keys! Open the window and toss me the keys!" to the departing passenger who smiles from behind the glass and waves back.

Anyone who might have occasion to declare "Don't shoot -- I surrender!" should be sure to carry a clean white handkerchief, although under the circumstances, a dirty one might do. The same is true of those who might like to notify passing helicopters and ships that they are not lolling on desert islands for their health and very much want to leave now if someone would be kind enough to offer them a lift.

Tears come in so many varieties that everyone would profit from the ability to wipe them away gracefully. There are tears of happiness at weddings, tears of sadness at funerals and tears at peeling onions. True, the last can be handled with a paper kitchen towel, but surely not the previous two. Should one's emotions be at variance with the occasion, the handkerchief can be used as a mask to hide sadness at weddings and satisfaction at funerals.

Wiping away the tears of others is also a charming gesture -- the child whose knee was scraped, the lover who was scrapped. The rule was that a gentleman always carried two handkerchiefs, one for himself and the other to hand to a distressed lady. Should he be a cad, this would be all the more necessary, as it is only sporting to offer to mop the tears one has caused.

Ladies had another reason for carrying spare handkerchiefs. A bit of lace dropped at the foot of a strange gentleman gave him an excuse to run after her to open an acquaintanceship.

Handkerchiefs can smother ill-timed laughter, as well as impromptu noises that would be improper at any time. They can dry perspiring hands and wipe outdoor chairs free of dew. And, as a last resort, they can even be used to blow the nose.

What item takes up so little space for the number of functions it has? All right, your pocketknife. But a handkerchief doesn't make trouble passing through security.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: In a conversation with my cousin about the upcoming holidays, she told me that she had ordered some clothing out of a catalog, which her husband would then reimburse her for. This is his Christmas gift to her. Is this some new tradition I am unaware of?

GENTLE READER: Which one? The tradition of husbands who don't give presents, either because they don't trouble themselves or because they can't figure out what to get? Or the one of wives who charge them for it but buy their own either because they aren't given any or because they prefer to choose their own?

Miss Manners suspects that neither is new. If neither of them minds the fact that this defeats the emotional value of presents as symbols of thoughtfulness, she supposes it works.

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DEAR MISS MANNERS: My mother told us kids (40 years ago) a saying to remind us to dip our soupspoon away from us when scooping up the soup: "Like a little ship at sea, dip your spoon away from me."

Since everyone in my current family thinks that is nonsense, have you heard this before, and why exactly are you supposed to dip your spoon "away from me"?

GENTLE READER: Your family doubts your mother's wisdom? Just because it doesn't make much sense? The ship's dipping, that is; it doesn't quite sound safe. Miss Manners seems to recall it sailing away from the person who was about to devour its ocean.

But soupspoons most certainly should be used away from oneself. This has a safety angle, too. Should you attack the soup with excessive enthusiasm, it will at least be away from your clothing.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: I recently married my partner in a state that permits same-sex weddings. It was a small civil ceremony with only two witnesses; we didn't even tell anyone we were going to do it. Later that week, I sent about 50 handwritten announcements to friends and family.

My problem is that out of all those people, we received almost no acknowledgment: one phone call and one card, and that's it. There are even people we see fairly regularly who did not take a moment to congratulate us.

I understand that what we did is, for some reason, considered controversial and even terribly shocking by some. But these are people I've known -- in many cases -- for my entire life, people whose elaborate weddings I've attended and participated in, people for whom I've purchased lavish wedding presents even if I could not attend their ceremonies.

Not that I expect any gifts in return -- far from it, we didn't even register. But I take great offense at the lack of acknowledgment, as if I've done something so terribly shameful it must be forever ignored.

I must point out that my homosexuality itself is not the issue here. I've been "out" to everyone I know for over 10 years, and everyone has always liked my partner very much. Am I being petty for begrudging people the time to "get used to" this new development?

I tell myself that since I eloped and didn't make a big deal about getting married, my friends and family feel they don't need to make a big deal, either. But even some "best wishes" e-mails would have been nice.

How do I go forward in dealing with these people? Do I allow my marriage to become some great, unspoken tension between me and the people I once considered close? Am I now free to ignore any future announcements sent by those who are snubbing me now?

GENTLE READER: Miss Manners has some information that will be as reassuring for you as it is discouraging for her. It is that people routinely ignore wedding announcements, shockingly rude as that is.

They know that they are supposed to send presents when they receive invitations to weddings, although it rarely occurs to them that they are also obligated to answer those invitations. But they fail to understand that when friends make an announcement -- whether formally or face to face -- it should elicit congratulations.

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