DEAR MISS MANNERS: My husband and I have made friends this past year with another couple in our area, and though it takes me awhile to warm up to new people, these folks had seemed close. Then suddenly (to us), our-friends-the-other-couple became the-other-couple-plus-one -- in other words, a threesome living together, going out to dinner with us together, attending events with us together.

Now, the details of their private life don't interest me. What bothers me is the idea that I may be required to welcome this stranger (who, I must admit, does not interest me much) into the circle of my closest friends.

Compound this with the fact that we invited them to join us and other friends during an upcoming vacation, and they have asked to bring their new friend (their term) along. Where bedroom arrangements are concerned, I would generally rather have it that we all get our preference and be glad.

However, am I a clod for being uncomfortable mixing this new development with other guests, who might not be accepting? It really is nobody's business, but darn it, what is a right-thinking friend and host supposed to assume or accept these days?

Sorry if this is off color and weird. You can imagine there are very few people to ask, and who can be trusted to be discreet? Boy oh boy, do I wish there were more discretion about.

GENTLE READER: Ah, yes, the shockingly new Menage a Trois Problem. Miss Manners recalls her dear Grandmamma sniffing about that.

"I really could not care less how she chooses to live her life," that lady would declare in regard to her second-youngest sister. "But she insists upon bringing them both to dinner. What do you suppose that does to my seating arrangements?"

From this, you will deduce that Miss Manners' grandmother was very old-fashioned, which is to say that she firmly believed in the rightness of alternating ladies and gentlemen at the dinner table, and this requires having an even number of them present. We are more enlightened about that now.

But not so much so that people are required to accept triples as couples if they do not care to do so. As your friends are at least discreet enough to refer to the third party as a friend, you can easily say, "Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm afraid we can't add another person this time."

DEAR MISS MANNERS: Is it ever proper to tuck one's napkin under one's chin?

GENTLE READER: Technically, no. If you are dexterous enough to secure the napkin in such a way that it does the job of covering your chest, you are too old to be wearing a bib.

There is, of course, an exception in cases of physical disability. However, Miss Manners does not agree with the common opinion that eating lobster for dinner counts as a disability.

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Technology has always been popular with the bottom of the class.

Calculators! We don't have to learn arithmetic!

Spell-checking programs! It's a waste of time to learn to spell!

Search engines! We can skip doing research in dusty old books, and they'll never know!

As Miss Manners recalls, one of the most successful campaigns to avoid learning was conducted more than a century ago by wretched, ink-stained children who hated the penmanship instruction that used to be required.

Heralding the invention of the typewriter, they made the case that the ability to write legibly was no longer a necessary skill. Eventually, they prevailed. Penmanship was dropped from the curriculum, and they were allowed to sail through life writing illegible letters, memos, perscriptions and checks. Resistance to penmanship became so pervasive that having an illegible signature became a point of pride.

But the schools got even. They instituted typing class.

The pupils struck back, of course, but it was years at the keyboards before the argument that typing was a trade skill for low-level workers, and not a fit subject for academic study, led to the demise of typing class. It vanished just in time to leave the high-level types stranded when the arrival of the computer put them in front of unfamiliar keyboards.

Miss Manners admits to some unbecoming satisfaction at the dismay of gentlemen she recalls having bragged that they had no need to type because they had secretaries, and the advantage enjoyed by the ladies who had been told that typing was the only entry into the job market that they could expect.

She also has an interested motive for ensuring the survival of handwriting, because on it depends the survival of the serious letter: the response to a formal invitation, the letter of condolence, the love letter worthy of the name.

Less-formal letter writing had a charming revival thanks to technology. The chattiness that had inspired so many inopportune telephone calls and office breaks made its way into writing.

Now, it may do the same for handwriting.

So far, none of the methods that technology had devised for taking quick notes to oneself without handwriting has eclipsed the scribbled note stuck in the pocket and left there to go through the laundry with the shirt. Voice recorders mean that others can hear what is dictated. Hand-held organizers require a new and otherwise useless form of writing, or unfolding a keyboard.

Now, a generation of handheld devices is promising to read ordinary handwriting. If it can find any. Furthermore, the idea is that it will read all sorts of different scrawls, which is more than those who write them can promise to do.

More likely, it will inspire its owners to avoid frustration by conforming to some sort of standard that this device can read. There is nothing like a new toy to inspire learning. Miss Manners foresees the return of penmanship class.

Unlike the first time around, the boys will not be able to get away with what was once their favorite sport: sitting behind girls and dipping their braids into their inkwells. The girls, at least, have learned something. Miss Manners may rejoice at the revival of a lost art, but true progress also makes her rejoice.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: I used to work for a company which is widely known for, among other things, making millionaires out of many of its young employees. I am not a millionaire, but I did have a great experience there and enjoy talking about it.

I don't bring the subject up, however, because when people find out where I used to work, they invariably say, "I didn't know you were rich!" or something to that effect.

I don't want to avoid all discussion of my former employer, but how can I deflect conversation away from my personal finances and back to this company's interesting history, corporate culture and personalities?

GENTLE READER: Miss Manners is afraid she has kept this question around too long before replying. When it arrived, the answer would have been, "Mind you, I'm not one of those people you read about. I just had a fascinating time there." Now, she would recommend dropping the second sentence.

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DEAR MISS MANNERS: Do I or do I not? There are many of the garnishes that I really enjoy. Is it considered appropriate to eat them? Please enlighten me.

GENTLE READER: Whether you do or do not is hardly something Miss Manners would consider to be her business. Garnishes, however, are. You may eat them.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: When is a gift not a gift?

I am caring for a disabled member of my large family. All my requests for help have been turned down in a very roundabout way.

For example, one sibling asks how he can help for the first time in a year. There is an event at my alma mater where tickets are hard to come by. My spouse has one ticket. "I could enjoy a night out with him," I say. "I understand you have an extra ticket." He is horrified: Do I know what I am asking? "Of course I know," I say, admittedly acidly. "It's my alma mater" ("not yours" is unsaid). He cannot part with it: There is someone else he'd rather go with.

He does send me tickets to an event I have no interest in that I cannot attend. I have not acknowledged this "gift."

Another sibling also fawningly asks how he can help. "You've been inviting guests to visit us without our permission. It is our intention to control the schedule of guests in our house."

He is horrified. Aren't the visitors a 'pick-me-up' for us?

"No," I assure him. Convinced this is his way of helping, he does it again.

The next time he issues an invitation to someone to our home, we withdraw it, telling the guest the timing is bad. Now they are all horrified, hurt, angry, and complaining about our "withdrawal" and how it affects us and deprives our handicapped houseguest, apparently to many sympathetic friends and family.

These acts of kindness, or gifts, do not fall under any category of well wishes I am familiar with. This is not just a poorly chosen gift that deserves a thank-you regardless; this is a "gift" in direct contradiction to our wishes.

What do we owe a giver who ignores our requests and complains about our choices? Is a written thank you in order, or will a cold oral one do? (I can't lift one eyebrow.) Could I be exempt from a thank you at least to the sibling that I sent a shower gift to, which merited only a single group e-mail thanks to all shower guests?

GENTLE READER: Your question is not about thanking people for presents, Miss Manners is obliged to point out.

It is about informing your siblings that it galls you when they not only avoid helping you take care of the disabled family member but try to get credit with you for doing so anyway.

She hesitates to suggest that you have this out with them frankly, because your last attempt at directness ended so badly. But being snippy about everything, regardless of whether it is relevant, is not going to help, either.

For example, your brother does not owe you tickets he wants to use, and if he sends you tickets you cannot use, you should thank him. Although returning presents is ordinarily insulting, tickets have a time limit, so they may be sent back so that someone else can use them.

The family does, however, owe you obedience to your house rules. It is unfortunate that innocent people were caught in your demonstration of this, but now they know.

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