DEAR MISS MANNERS: A few months ago, I needed to call my former wife on a matter of some importance (fortunately not an emergency) concerning our children. She was not home, so I left a message. She never called me back.

When she later learned of the situation, she reproached me for not contacting her, so I explained that I had left a message for her at home.

When she said breezily, "Oh, I never check messages on my home phone," I was at a loss for words; not at the decision not to use the technology of voice mail -- a decision which is hers to make -- but because her recorded message says (exact quote), "This is Jane. I'd appreciate it if you would leave me a message."

I pointed out that if she had no intention of listening to messages, she could do what our daughter did on her home phone and record the message, "We do not check this machine for messages, so please try our cell phones...."

Then, just last night, I was talking with a friend -- of the "younger generation," if that is relevant -- who has been dating a young woman whose voice mailbox is always full, because she doesn't listen to messages, either. I don't know what her greeting is, but if one has no intention of listening to messages, should one not say so, saving one's callers time and annoyance? I fully believe that the voice mailbox is mine to use, or not use, as I please, but to mislead callers by inviting them to leave a message I refuse to listen to seems, well, rude.

While Miss Manners' Gentle Readers all understand that technology exists to serve us and not the other way 'round, and, similarly, that one cannot be rude to a machine, nonetheless we would be grateful for some guidance on how to interact with friends and relatives (who may possibly not be Gentle Readers) who have other ideas.

GENTLE READER: And it is not just ex-wives, as you have discovered. Many people have all but abandoned monitoring their home telephones.

But Miss Manners assures you that by the time you program in their cellular telephone numbers, they will have also given up listening to messages left there, on the grounds that this takes too long, and they only check text messages.

As an excuse, this does not play as well as the old lost-in-the-mail or service-was-down ones, since clearly missing such messages cannot be blamed on others. The least people can do, as you suggest, is to warn you.

But as you now know, there are people who do not do that least. Miss Manners is afraid you will have to get into the habit of asking, "What is the best way to reach you?"

DEAR MISS MANNERS: When ordering at a restaurant, is it permissible to say, "I want . . .," or "Give me . . ."?

I greatly prefer, "I would like" or "Please may I have the...." My son believes I am "hyper" about manners.

GENTLE READER: How fortunate, then, for him that he has you to bring him up. Miss Manners trusts that you also know better than to cede authority to someone whose object is to remove courtesy and recommend making bald demands.

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DEAR MISS MANNERS: I'm pleased to note how consideration for others seems to be the guiding principle of manners as you promote them, but one rule of etiquette has puzzled me for a lifetime: the prohibition of wearing white or linen between Labor Day and Easter.

This rule assumes September is always nippy and Easter is always mild, when the reverse can often be true in the United States. The rule seems even more arbitrary when one lives in the subtropics, where February days routinely top 80 degrees. Would you please shed some light on how we might understand this rule?

GENTLE READER: Consideration for others is something you have kindly shown Miss Manners. When this rule is questioned, it is usually with a barrage of sarcasm and disdain rarely leveled on far more restrictive rules.

Miss Manners is aware of the glamour of rebellion, but could there possibly be a more tepid cause?

The source is a misunderstanding that you share with the ferocious rebels. It is true that consideration for others is a guiding principle of manners, but that is not its only function. It is also a repository of folk customs that are indeed arbitrary, but that folks like to practice anyway. Or, as Miss Manners has learned, hate to.

This one has to do with seasons, not with weather. Easter is a time for bringing out pastel colors and, for those few who care to, straw hats. Memorial Day marks the beginning of summer, when white seems refreshing. However, there is no wardrobe police to enforce this, which makes Miss Manners wonder what all the excitement is about.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: I moved back to a state where I had previously resided, while my wife and daughter stayed behind to sell the house. I am now maintaining two residences on one salary, which, as you can imagine, is a strain financially.

My friends here are wonderful and invite me to do many things, including activities that involve at least moderate expense. I simply cannot afford to do these things. My friends, conscious of the situation, ALWAYS pay.

My protestations, my offers to pay at least part of the cost, my polite declining of invitations, are all waved away with love and compassion. I adore them all for their kindness and generosity, but I am starting to feel subsidized, and don't want to be a mooch, ESPECIALLY since I love them so much.

I have offered dinner to them all upon the reunion of my family, but what else can I do to avoid being a financial leech and still spend time with these marvelous people? They refuse my refusals, knowing the reason behind them.

GENTLE READER: Money is not the only commodity that friends can provide for one another, and not even the most valuable one, handy as it may be. You could be doing other sorts of favors for your kind friends.

Now you are probably going to ask Miss Manners what favors. People are always asking her what presents to give to their dearest friends whom she has never laid eyes on.

Think of something helpful you can offer without its seeming like payment: "I'll pick everyone up so we don't all have to look for parking," or "I'm doing my lawn this weekend and I'd be happy to do yours -- it's how I get my exercise," or "You don't need a carpenter to fix that -- woodworking is my hobby."

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DEAR MISS MANNERS: When attending a performance of, say, a high school musical, what are the rules about standing ovations? They seem to be occurring more and more frequently for what I'd consider an adequate, but certainly not spectacular, performance.

I know people are proud of their offspring and want to show that, but my goodness, a standing ovation? My husband and I feel mean-spirited just sitting when everyone has heaved him-or-herself out of the chair to "ovate." I must add that those who do stand appear to do so with some lack of enthusiasm. Any thoughts?

GENTLE READER: That pretty much everyone attending a high school musical has a young relative involved in it. If you merely wandered in because you were in search of a spectacular performance of "The Fantasticks," you are asking for disappointment.

Mind you, Miss Manners has sat quietly through many a standing ovation at the professional theater and the opera, clapping normally if she thinks the performance a good one, keeping her hands in her lap if not. She agrees with you that ovation inflation has made it impossible for audiences to express their enthusiasm for a performance of rare excellence.

And although she is incapable of uttering a "boo," she relishes being in audiences that are discerning and emotionally involved enough to register even negative opinions.

But high school? Or any amateur performance? It is there, and not in the costly professional theater, that the audience's kindly duty is to encourage the performers. Or at least to reassure them that they have not made fools of themselves.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: Last month, my friend informed me that she was pregnant with her first child. Soon afterwards, she began including me in a group that receives a weekly e-mail regarding the status of her pregnancy. It includes a few comments from her, followed by a description of the baby's development, including a diagram like one you'd find in a textbook.

While I am happy that she is excited about having her first child, I find that this is a little too much information and somewhat self-centered.

Should I just let the e-mails continue or is there a way I can politely say something so that I can be excluded from these weekly e-mail distributions?

GENTLE READER: Let us hope that your friend does not take to tweeting. Minute-by-minute accounts of pregnancy are something that only prospective fathers and grandparents should be expected to bear.

What you are getting is also lacking in charm and general interest, but Miss Manners believes that once a week, you could take a minute to 1) hit the reply key, 2) type "Congratulations," and (3 and 4 in rapid succession) hit the send and delete keys.

Pregnancy is, by its nature, a self-preoccupied state, but it often leads to the opposite state. Should your friend start sending weekly baby pictures, follow the above instructions, substituting the word "cute" for step two.

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