DEAR MISS MANNERS: I have been bothered that I may have made a social gaffe and rudely hurt someone's feelings at the same time:

At a wedding reception, I noticed a young woman who had been standing alone on the fringes of the gathering for several minutes. Being of a gregarious and friendly nature, I approached, her extending my hand, and introduced myself.

She looked at me warily and said, "I don't shake hands."

Feeling rebuffed and surprised, I interpreted her refusal to shake my hand as a personal affront, as if she thought I had just crawled out of the gutter, and I replied with cutting sarcasm, "Oh, arthritis? I'm so sorry. I do hope it gets better," and briskly walked away with a smirk on my face.

I was later told that the young lady belongs to an orthodox religion that forbids married women from shaking hands with men. After hearing this, I was uncomfortable and felt guilty, and I avoided going near the lady for the rest of the evening.

How about it, Miss Manners? How big of a fool did I make of myself?

GENTLE READER: Huge. Immense. Gigantic.

It is not just the sarcasm and the smirk, either, although Miss Manners deplores them both, and would even if it were certain that an affront was intended. Not giving people the benefit of the doubt, but starting from the assumption that one has been insulted and must retaliate is in large part responsible for the pugnacious state of society today.

There could be a number of reasons that a polite person would be unable to shake hands. Your crack about arthritis, presumably intended to ridicule illness and, for good measure, old age, indicates that you know this. Would you have felt better if it turned out that she did have arthritis?

Just for good measure, you, not the lady, violated simple hand-shaking etiquette. A gentleman does not offer his hand but waits until a lady offers hers, which she is by no means obligated to do.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: When my husband and I attended the wedding of my first cousin, we brought our wedding gift with us, and during the reception my husband retrieved the gift from our car and put it on the gift table.

Several weeks after the wedding, I was unloading items from the trunk of my car and found the wedding card that was to have accompanied the gift. Apparently, it had fallen off the gift, and my husband failed to notice that it was missing.

Is there a tactful way to let the bride and groom know that we did indeed get them a gift, and which one it was? My cousin came to our wedding and gave us a very nice gift, and I don't want her to think I've forgotten her.

GENTLE READER: You have a trifling etiquette problem here, but you have the solution to a hideous one. For heaven's sake, call them immediately and tell them what happened. Miss Manners keeps hearing from frantic brides who are eager to do their solemn duty of writing thanks for presents, but prevented because cards were lost, or even because presents were stolen. This is why Miss Manners keeps telling people not to bring their presents to the wedding -- to send them ahead or -- since one Gentle Reader waxed indignant about the extra expense for postage -- drop them off before the wedding at the bride's house.

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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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