DEAR MISS MANNERS: I recently got divorced and remarried -- rather quickly, I might add. This came suddenly and unexpectedly -- to everyone around me, that is.

I, of course, saw it coming for quite a while. Preferring not to air my dirty laundry, I kept my marital affairs private.

When I see people I haven't seen in quite some time, I introduce my new husband as, "This is -----, my husband."

Right in front of him, I get questions like, "Oh, aren't you married to ----- anymore?" or "Where is -----, your first husband?" or "Did something terrible happen to -----?"

This, of course, puts my new husband in an awkward situation. Being the sweetheart that he is, he says nothing. It doesn't bother him, but I get very upset.

Now, if I were in the other person's shoes, yes, I would be surprised by this quick change, and a million questions would run through my head. But, out of respect for this other person, I would never ask about the situation.

Am I wrong to think this is unacceptable behavior? Am I getting myself out of joint unnecessarily? I don't understand how people can be so ignorant. Isn't it obvious that I am not married to ----- anymore? How do I answer these people?

Until now, I have been answering them with, "That's a closed chapter of my life; on to better things. ...." followed by a quick change of the subject. Sometimes I am confronted with people who simply cannot take a hint and want to dig into the dirty details, "Well, what on earth happened to you two?"

I finally had my fill of it today. Is the way I've been answering this question proper?

GENTLE READER: Is your doubt based on the notion that a proper answer would have the effect of zapping a busybody?

Would that it were so.

However, lest that give you evil ideas, Miss Manners assures you that rude answers merely encourage busybodies to rephrase the rude content of their questions in rude language.

What works is the slow but relentless method that busybodies employ -- repetition. What you are saying is fine; you just may not be saying it often enough. Every time someone restates the question, you should restate your answer.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: Now in my 70s after a conservative upbringing, I receive calls from telemarketers who, although we have never met, begin by addressing me by my first name or even by the nickname Jim.

The callers sometimes become angry when I ask why they have chosen first-name intimacy in circumstances not warranting it. Once, when I hung up after posing that question and failed to receive a reply, the telemarketer called again and left an obscene message on the answering machine.

Solicitations bearing the salutation "Dear James" I simply return to the sender or discard. However, I would appreciate being informed of the correct way to respond to like-minded callers with whom, by my having answered the telephone, I have entered into a speaking relationship.

GENTLE READER: There is a quick and civil divorce obtainable from these relationships. All you need to do is to say, "Thank you, I'm not interested," and hang up.

Miss Manners holds no brief for unsolicited telephone calls and unsolicited intimacy, but she is afraid that unsolicited etiquette lessons are not justifiable, either.

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DEAR MISS MANNERS: Are there professional situations in which one can be too polite? In recent years, TV and radio journalists have tended to preface their interviews with greetings and concluded them with thanks.

I don't remember Walter Cronkite doing that. Many of the interviewees seem not to know if or how they should respond, resulting in awkward pauses and interruptions. This effort at bonhomie, doubtless designed to re-image the media as kind and caring, seems out of place and distracting in the context.

As a corollary, I have noticed that those who do respond to the interviewer's thank-you often do so with their own thank-you. This seems to be a trend in society at large. In our effort to be the most deferential, have we abandoned the old-fashioned and, what I was taught to be, the proper response: "You're welcome"?

GENTLE READER: As far back as Miss Manners can remember, which must have been when TV sets had to be hand-cranked, an oddly misplaced form of social manners was being used.

Newscasters and interviewers always called themselves "hosts" and referred to the people they interviewed as "guests." At the same time, the industry was forever talking about itself in terms of "being invited" into the viewers' living rooms (this was before there was a set at every bedside; Miss Manners warned you that it was a long time ago), which would make those hosts the guests of the audience.

So it is not that they are "too polite" (a concept Miss Manners refuses to recognize); they are just confused. Guests are supposed to thank, and, as they are all guests in one way or another, they are all too busy thanking to accept thanks.

Peculiar as this pattern is, it has been used for so long that more businesslike manners on television would now seem too curt. Miss Manners only regrets, as you do, that the confusion has spread to society at large, where it is being forgotten that the courteous answer to the courtesy of thanks is "You're welcome."

In connection with TV programs, saying "you're welcome" would be the job of host-viewers, if they were not all too busy saying, "There must be something else on."

DEAR MISS MANNERS: My mother says putting lipstick on at the table in a restaurant is poor manners. I say that if you have a beautiful holder or compact and don't take all evening, it is accepted today. Who is right -- her (old school) or me (new school)?

GENTLE READER: The new school is right. But wait -- before you rush off to triumph over your mother, Miss Manners must point out that it is your mother who represents the new school in this dispute.

Before World War I, ladies did not put on make-up in public for the sensible reason that they were pretending that they never wore any. After the war, some of them inaugurated the modern era of fashion by wearing little else.

Thus the beautiful compacts, which it soon came to be permissible to flash at the table, date from the 1920s and 1930s. These often matched elaborate cigarette holders, as smoking at the table was also permitted.

In recent times, onlookers revolted against both smoking and grooming at the table on the grounds that they found those practices unappetizing. They have therefore been banned by the new school.

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Before going all dewy-eyed upon receiving a wedding invitation, it might be useful (Miss Manners confides in a discreet whisper) to make some inquiries.

Not that you would begrudge your friends their happy celebrations, whatever the circumstances. But there are so many different events now being described as weddings that you might want to know just what it is that you are expected to celebrate.

To begin with, is the wedding marking the couple's beginning entry into (this) marriage, or did that already take place, days, months or even years before?

Is this wedding, for example, one in a series of ceremonies being enacted sequentially in different locations for different onlookers?

Is it a re-enactment of a previously publicly solemnized marriage, perhaps even one that you attended, being redone for stylistic reasons and heralded as "we can finally afford the wedding of our dreams"?

Is it a reprise of a wedding as it did take place (a sort of picking-up-the-option now known as a "reaffirmation of vows")?

And that is assuming that the wedding is connected with a marriage at all. Nowadays, this is too big a leap to take on faith.

If not, is there an intention of marriage that is thwarted by legal impediments or financial handicaps?

Or is this an assumption of the advantages of a wedding -- hoopla and dry goods -- on the part of people who reject its obligations?

Or is the whole thing a joke on the part of people who are not even romantically involved with each other, much less making even a loose commitment?

Miss Manners is not as flinty-hearted as she looks. She would prefer that a reception for newlyweds or an anniversary party be honestly labeled as such and skip the ceremonial replay, but she does not necessarily demand an on-the-spot legal event to put away her share of champagne on behalf of happy couples.

What drives her away from this drink is when desire for a wedding is coupled with disdain for marriage. It does not seem too much to ask of people who could get married but have no wish to do so to forgo aping the event.

Mind you, she understands the attractions. Weddings are now being regarded as opportunities to boss around one's family, collect tributes from friends and indulge in a formality that is otherwise missing in modern life, and naturally, everyone wants to have them. And just as naturally, many are leery of getting stuck with mates of whom they may tire.

But combining those positions is spreading an etiquette problem that Miss Manners' dear grandmother never had to face.

In that lady's day, fake weddings were held in private, at the instigation of a nonbridegroom who wished the nonbride to believe herself to be legally married for the next night or two. Invitations were not issued. Now that the nonbride is as interested in nonpermanence as the nonbridegroom, however, invitations are issued far and wide.

And those who receive them are worrying about what their commitment is to couples who are not making a commitment to each other.

The commitment to accept or decline a social invitation, and to attend if one has accepted, remains in effect. But as for the rest -- treating a party as if it were a wedding -- Miss Manners doesn't see why the guests should not be as free of responsibility as the hosts.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: It seems that anyone who is anyone has an entourage, and I feel that I would like to have one, but I am somewhat concerned about its composition. I do not, for example, need a dog handler or a dietitian; and I have no need of a publicist.

I would, therefore, appreciate your advice on what you would consider the essential composition of a modest entourage. I am a single, heterosexual male in my 60s, and, while I am willing to spend the necessary money, I do not want to appear crass or arriviste.

GENTLE READER: Then Miss Manners considers it unfair of you to take on an entourage, thus depriving those who do.

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