THE VISITORS
When people complain to Miss Manners about their houses being overrun with critters, she feels sympathetic but helpless. These creatures are apparently arriving in hordes without warning, sometimes whole families of them, swarming all over the place until the people who live there can no longer stand it. Summer seems to bring them out, although year-round invasions are reported in warm climates. They eat everything in sight and much that isn’t. They are quick to forage in cupboards, drawers and closets and so deft at this that nothing can be successfully sealed off. Everywhere they go, they leave a nasty mess. Domestic life becomes suddenly less comfortable and more expensive. There seems to be no protection from them. Nobody knows how they got in, or how to get rid of them. “Do something!” Miss Manners is implored. “We can’t stand living like this!”
Miss Manners shares the victims’ dismay but was initially at a loss to figure out what they expected her to do. She is not in the pest control business. Surely they should be approaching exterminators, instead. Then she found out they were talking about their friends and relatives. The pests were houseguests. So perhaps she is in the pest control business.
She will therefore go about that business in the proper way (as she does everything in the proper way because she can’t help herself). Yes, yes, she will help you get your house back and keep it safe from subsequent invasion. But first a disclaimer:
Miss Manners is not an exterminator, not even a social exterminator. She will not allow you to treat your guests rudely, even when the guests are rude. Nor does she want to discourage anyone from having houseguests. On the contrary, her interest in the situation is in putting visiting on a polite level so that it can be enjoyed by both hosts and guests.
House visits among family and friends can be a lovely way to deepen an existing bond. The convenience to travelers who find a home base on their vacations should be equaled by the pleasure of stay-at-homes who can enjoy sociability without having to ruin their clothes by jamming them into carry-on bags. All it takes to make this pleasant is a bit of politeness on the part of the guests. But this is what Miss Manners is told is in short supply.
All right, now let’s talk about pest control.
1. What is the point of entry for these pests?
In most cases, Miss Manners finds that it was an open-door invitation: “Anytime you’re in town, you can stay with us” or “We have a great new vacation house, come on up whenever you like.” Miss Manners, who believes in hospitality, does not want to nail this door shut. She only wants to add a screen door, so to speak. Charming as these invitations are, they are either too vague or not vague enough. The proper style is either “We’d love to have you come up for Labor Day weekend, Friday evening to Monday afternoon” or “We’re up here all summer, and would be delighted to have you here for a few days or a week if we can get our schedules to mesh, so do give us a call.”
2. Suppose we thought everything was plugged up, but they got in anyway?
Well, they got in someplace. Let’s investigate the weak spots. If it was at the invitation of another member of the family, Miss Manners believes it is your job, not hers, to work out an acceptable policy. She asks you to bear in mind that all members of a household are entitled to keep it open to their intimates, although they may bear a special responsibility to keep them from annoying other household members. (Translation from the euphemistic: You can’t ban your in-laws or your step-children, but you can ask their child or parent to get them to keep out of your study or turn down the CD player.)
3. What if nobody invited them? They just announced they were coming, or they actually showed up on the doorstep.
Then someone let down the guard, probably out of the goodness of not wanting to seem rude. There is a polite way to bar entry. One offers profuse apologies and regrets (“Oh, what a shame you’ll be here then—ordinarily, we’d love to have you here, but that’s a bad time for us”) but no specific excuses that can be countered (with such blithe reassurances as “Oh, don’t worry about that—we’ll just entertain ourselves”).
4. Okay, we shouldn’t have let them in. But we did, and they overran the house—so how do we get rid of them now that they’ve taken possession?
Politely, of course. By thanking them for coming, and kindly offering them a ride to the station.
DEAR MISS MANNERS – We have some relatives who stop by our house every Friday night between 7 and 10 p.m. and stay for the weekend. Should our porch light be on before they arrive, or can we wait until we hear them drive up before turning it on?
GENTLE READER – Do you want them to find the house? Miss Manners is only asking. In that case, it would make sense to turn on the lights before they arrive. You might as well do that, anyway. It is difficult to conceal a whole house, even in darkness, and it will be no less trouble to you if your relatives miss and drive into a tree than if they can find their way.
DEAR MISS MANNERS – Throughout the years, our home has been the stopping-off place by many for fellowship, a bed, and food. Many summers, we have live-in company representing various “groups” (friends, relatives) for up to three months. On top of that, friends of mine have come to expect me to have an open-door to their college-career aged kids, as the parents in most cases have moved away or split. I have found there is no peace in our home, no time to have a private chat with our own four college students; the food budget is huge; the wet towels and dirty bed linens constant.
When I become “taken for granted” in this type of giving, I find it makes me angry and anxious for more free time myself. When I try to explain this to the “regulars,” they feel hurt and “kicked out,” no matter how I word it.
How would you find peace when for years, you’ve had relatively none, due to a constantly “used” home? All of the people I refer to are lovely people when here. I guess I’m tired from such hard work and constant interruption. My friends tell me I’m lucky people like it here. I love people, but where is the balance?
In this day of split homes and mobility, there are lots of single kids in their teens and twenties looking for a home-base. I used to think divorce was hardest on young children, but my observation is that it is also earth-shaking for the older kids. As a wife and mom whose blessings are innumerable, I’d like to share them without being taken for granted. Where do you draw the line, and how do you do it?
GENTLE READER – At the risk of sounding like your unhelpful friends, Miss Manners would like to say that your living arrangements sound ideal to her. A bustling household, where emotional sustenance is supplied to young people who are lovely in return, is surely a wonderful place in which to live, for you and your children, as well as for your guests.
You know that, or you wouldn’t be doing this. You probably also know that you needn’t worry about a too peaceful—which is to say, lonely—old age, because it will doubtless be full of requited love from the many people with whom you have shared your blessings. However, that doesn’t help with the wet towels, does it?
Miss Manners must remind you that it is your household, and your immediate family’s, and that you must set the rules for your guests. No fair-minded person could take personal offense if your needs, as well as theirs, are put forward. Until you do so, young people are likely to assume that you prefer running things as you do, with you doing all the work and not asking for privacy.
You must learn to reserve periods when you will not accept guests. “We’d love to see you in late June, but we always keep the first two weeks after our children come home from college, just to be together’ is an acceptable response to a request to visit; or “No, the next few months are bad for us to have houseguests, but if you’re going to be in town anyway, let’s set up an evening when you can come to dinner.”
Young guests can easily share in the household work. You can establish this with the invitation or when showing them around upon their arrival—“I’m afraid there’s not much service around here. I hope you don’t mind looking after yourself and your room, and taking a turn, along with the rest of us, at the cooking and cleaning.”
A way to cut food expenses without seeming to charge for your hospitality is to include among the errands sending people out for the groceries they need for their turns at cooking. During long visits, you can also say, “I’m exhausted—would you mind making dinner?” or “Would you kids be angels and round up all the towels and throw them in the wash?” or “I’m going to be shut up in my room all day—would you people tend to whatever needs doing?”
This is not only a sensible way for you to make your life more manageable but a kindness to your guests. Miss Manners assures you that the lovely people you describe will be only too happy to learn how they can make you some return.
For the benefit of anyone who is spending vacation time staying with friends, Miss Manners would like to explain the difference between a private residence and a hotel.
That’s right, bills. People you know who let you stay with them don’t present bills. They don’t even ask for an impression of your credit card. Hotels do. Therefore, staying with someone saves you money. You noticed that, did you?
Some of you are not above drawing this advantage to the attention of your hosts—as the hosts, in turn, have drawn your observation to Miss Manners’ attention. They are not as delighted with your frank charm as you must suppose when you call up and say “We don’t want to pay for a hotel, so we thought we’d stay with you.”
Announcing that you want a room at the cheapest rate possible is not the only habit that goes over better at hotels than with friends. Hotel manners, even good hotel manners such as tipping for service and leaving the guest bathrobe lying around to make it clear you didn’t pack it, do not apply to people’s homes.
You’re not supposed to volunteer your availability to relatives, let alone friends. In-laws and intimates can pose this as a question (“Would it be convenient for us to be there on the second weekend in August?”), but others can do no more than hint (“We’ll be out your way in mid-August and would love to see you”). Even if this produces an invitation, they are required to be coy (“Do you mean it? Because we wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble”) before accepting. (There is nothing rude about a targeted host’s replying instead “Oh, what a shame, we have plans for then” or “We’d love to see you too—where will you be staying?” The would-be guest is honor-bound to take this unflinchingly.)
An accepted guest is obliged to maintain throughout the visit the stance that his or her real interest is not in saving money but in gaining the host’s company while avoiding being waited upon. In other words—those very words that bitter hosts inevitably use—they are not to treat the place like a hotel.
In a hotel, you don’t need to make the bed, mop up the bathroom, put away incidental dishes you use and offer to help with the chores. As a houseguest, you do. In a hotel, you can announce in advance what you want, and complain if you don’t get it. As a houseguest, you can only own up to preferences if the host makes repeated attempts to extract them, and whatever happens, you have to keep swearing that everything is just as you like it. In a hotel, you can come and go as you please. As a houseguest, you have to arrange your plans around your hosts’ schedule and give them the opportunity to accompany you when you go elsewhere, without making it sound like their duty. In addition, you are expected to be alert enough to their wishes to avoid over-doing any of this, refraining from helping with chores they prefer to do alone or from appearing to want to be with them so much that they never have a minute to themselves.
All that is required as payment for their hospitality is an effusive letter, a thoughtful present and a reciprocal invitation (as well as an invitation to dine out in their own town). Some people might think it cheaper to pay bills. Miss Manners is afraid that some hosts, fed up with guests who do not follow the above rules, are threatening to present them.
DEAR MISS MANNERS – Friends arrived for a six-day visit, bringing with them a case of wine which we assumed was our hostess gift. We provided breakfast, lunch and dinner, even taking them out for a meal. At no time did they take us out or bring any other gift into the house. Near the end of the visit, our guests presented us with a bill for the wine—of which they had drunk several bottles.
Since there was a possibility that they had thought we had asked for the wine, we paid for it. At the time, I wondered if there was something that needed to be said, perhaps along these lines: “Your total non-participation in supporting this joint social venture makes us feel taken advantage of.” Nothing of the kind was said, and now we are struggling with feelings of resentment. Any suggestions?
GENTLE READER – You have already followed Miss Manners’ suggestion, which would be to say nothing of the kind. However, that should not prevent either one of us from having the satisfaction of thinking what could be said if one were willing to be rude.
Since this is only a fantasy—because you were commendably incapable of being rude and Miss Manners certainly is—why settle for something so crude as a scolding? Why not dream of sending them a bill slightly larger than the one they sent you, but marked “corking fee”?
DEAR MISS MANNERS – Friends of ours who live in a distant city have business here, and when they do, they say they will visit us if convenient to us. It seems that their visits are more and more frequently to conduct business on his part, and less and less a friendly visit. I feel that I am used as a motel, because the two go off in the mornings, not inviting me, and she shops, they lunch together, sightsee, then come to our house for dinner and bed. Am I resentful needlessly? My husband says yes, but, then, he has no part in the entertainment other than his presence.
GENTLE READER – It is usually a good thing that hosts cannot overhear what their guests say to each other in private, but in this case, Miss Manners believes it would be useful for you to do some imaginary eavesdropping.
(Note: Real eavesdropping on houseguests is immoral, and carries its own punishment. You learn more about your house than any sensible person would want to know.)
HE: Why don’t you sleep in, and I’ll meet you back here when we break for lunch?
SHE: No, no, don’t even think of it. I’d love to, but Arabella would feel she had to tiptoe around all morning, and then make lunch for us. I already feel that she’s doing too much—we come so often, and she makes those wonderful dinners. I’ll just go into town when you do, and do some shopping or something.
HE: Ask her to join us. The two of you could shop together, and then I’ll meet you for lunch.
SHE: I’m afraid she’d feel she had to, when she has her own things to do. And she could probably stand a break from us.
HE: Okay, but let’s head back here after lunch. We could help her cook dinner, or whatever.
SHE: I’ve asked, and she won’t let me help. I don’t like anyone else in my kitchen, either, so I know how she feels.
HE: So what are you suggesting?
SHE: Let’s just stay in town and tell her we’re doing some sightseeing so she has a breather. As long as we get back in time for dinner. That’s the best time for socializing—which of course is why I came along on the trip in the first place.
HE: I know. It makes such a difference to me to have an evening with friends, and not just have to stay in some motel room feeling lonely.
DEAR MISS MANNERS – My husband and I have been married almost a year now. We have a get together every Friday night with his friend and his wife. I’ve always gotten along with them, but lately his friend has been rubbing my back, feeling my hair, and talking about obscene things around me. How do I nicely tell him to stop—I’m a married woman.
GENTLE READER – One need not be married to object to such behavior, but since you are, Miss Manners has a suggestion. Ask your husband the same question you asked Miss Manners.
With the prospect of pleasant weather and a bit of leisure, we have a resurgence of the charming custom of Looking People Up. People in resort areas. People in areas featuring tourist attractions. People with vacation houses. People with swimming pools. What nice people they all are, and wouldn’t this be a good time to say hello—for, say, a week or two?
Miss Manners is always glad to hear of innocent sociability. She tries very hard not to assume any relationship between the seasonal popularity of these people and their living accommodations. So do they. This is why most of them have had their hospitable impulses severely strained. Frankness being in fashion, they have had it made only too clear to them that they are perceived as useful, more than desirable, by friends who don’t scruple to conceal their interest in free accommodations or recreational facilities.
Their hostly hearts no longer leap with happy anticipation when they hear something like this:
“We’ve got some vacation coming, and we can’t really afford to go anywhere great this year, so we thought we’d come down and spend a week or two with you. With what we’d save on hotels, we’re going to fly, but don’t you have a second car we can use if we need it? Anyway, the kids are excited about your pool, so they’ll probably want to stick around. But maybe if there are any good shows in town, you could pick up some tickets for us.”
The fact is that hosts, no matter how open-hearted, want to be in control of their invitations, which is to say, not unreasonably, of their living quarters. Trust Miss Manners that even the ones who have recklessly gone around saying “Come and see us anytime” feel this way—even if they have announced that they are too “casual” (a major term of self-congratulation these days) to expect any formalities.
A serious invitation has a date in it—not “Come anytime,” but “Come on the 16th.” If the prospective hosts have any sense, it will have two dates: “We’d love to have you come on the 16th, and stay till the 30th” or “Come down on a Thursday night, and stay until Sunday night, so we can have a long weekend.”
This is not to say that generalized invitations are insincere. What the literal-minded overlook is that the term “anytime” in an invitation actually means “any time that is convenient for me, depending on what else I have to do then, how I feel at that moment about having guests, how much of a nuisance you are going to make of yourself and how many people you are thinking of bringing.”
For anyone who hopes to turn a nonspecific invitation into a serious one, Miss Manners provides the following polite formula. Notice that it comes with two sets of responses from prospective hosts. Politeness is not a weapon that can be used to force people to take in guests they don’t want.
GUEST-CANDIDATE: “We’re hoping to have a chance to see you. We’re thinking of spending a couple of weeks in your area, and we’re hoping you’ll be free to spend some time with us.”
EAGER HOSTS: “Great! We have some time off coming, and this would be a great way to spend it. But come and stay with us, so we’ll really have some time together. We’d be insulted to hear of your going to a hotel when we have all this room.”
HORRIFIED HOSTS: “Great! Of course, we’ll be working then, but be sure and save us an evening. Where are you staying?”
DEAR MISS MANNERS – My husband and I bought a summer house by the shore, and after receiving guests since May, I was looking forward to having the place to ourselves in August. But we have friends who regard our hospitality as an indication that we want them to join us whenever they are not otherwise engaged.
I have grown to dread the question, “What are your plans for the weekend?” which is usually followed by, “I might come and see you on Saturday if the weather is nice,” or “I’m dying for another visit! When are you going to invite me again?” I have tried, “We’ll be at the shore for the weekend, but I haven’t made any preparations for company.” They come back with, “But I’m not company. You don’t have to entertain me.”
This is partly true—these people do not behave like company. Having extorted an invitation, they expect everything to be as it was on their last visit, in spite of my warning that I was not prepared for them. They felt at home enough to insult me with remarks like, “How could you forget the bagels? You know that’s all I eat for breakfast,” and “I froze last night. Don’t you people believe in turning on the heat?”
Food was the main topic of conversation. Lunch came up for discussion at 10:30 a.m., and they weren’t talking about the sandwiches and fruit I was prepared to offer: “I didn’t let you drag me down here to eat sandwiches. I want a cookout.”
My husband says we should go ahead and invite them, but take them literally at their word, not treat them like company, and go about our business as if they weren’t in the house. Aside from being rude, this would mean we can’t go about our business—having sex any time and any place we please—as if we were alone.
What I really need is a polite way to tell these people that my plans are my own business, and if I don’t volunteer an invitation, it means that I don’t want company or anything else for the weekend.
GENTLE READER – Your husband wants to teach these people a lesson by allowing them to treat your house as theirs, and you as the deficient house staff? Miss Manners has always admired saintliness, but this is ridiculous. You really must—as you recognize—learn how to say no.
The trick is not to make it seem negotiable. Granted that polite people wait to be invited, and even semipolite people who put themselves forward take the first hint of not being welcome, that still leaves a lot of people, such as your very own friends, who try to make the hosts seem rude to argue their way in. Do not allow them to bully you. You owe them no explanation, and to offer one only allows them an opening.
The polite answer to “What are you doing this weekend?” is “Oh, I’m so sorry, but we’re busy” (no need to be as graphic as you were to Miss Manners about what you were busy doing). The answer to “When are you going to invite me again?” is a cheerful “Oh, you’ll hear from me when we do.”
As for complaints by guests who do get in, Miss Manners recommends taking them seriously.
“Bagels? You were cold? Oh, I’m so sorry, we really shouldn’t have had you here when we were unprepared. We couldn’t dream of allowing you to be uncomfortable—we feel awful about it. Here, I’ll call a bed and breakfast for you. No, no, I insist. Don’t stay just to be polite—we want you to be comfortable.”
When they are then shamed into protesting that they were only kidding, you should look all the more stricken and confess “Well, I’m not. I want you to be happy here, and this is not the time; you really must come back another time, when we’re ready.”
DEAR MISS MANNERS – I am beginning to dread the Summer Olympics. During the Super Bowl, my house was used as a bed and breakfast for relatives attending the game. My brother and his family, and an aunt and uncle enjoyed my hospitality and then went to their game, leaving me to clean dishes and prepare a snack for their return. I would have loved to have gone to the game, but could not afford tickets. I will not be able to afford tickets for the Summer Olympics, either, and will resent being used again as a hotel. My family-guests do not visit me unless they are attending meetings, and just use my home as a stopping-off point.
GENTLE READER – There, there. If you really think they don’t care to see you at all, but only find your house a convenience, you needn’t have them stay with you. All you have to do is to respond “I’m afraid that’s a bad time to have you here at the house, but I’d love to see you if you have some spare time. And I’d be glad to make a hotel reservation for you if you tell me what you want.”
Miss Manners would rather not increase the estrangement you feel from such close relatives. Can’t we assume that they are thoughtless, rather than uncaring? Don’t you want to have a holiday at their houses, now and then? The way to check motives would be to say “I’d love to have you, but it’s so tantalizing to have you here and not have a real visit with you. We so rarely see one another. I’d come to the Olympics with you, but it’s really out of my reach. Why don’t you save me an evening, and maybe we could go out and do something?”
If this brings them to their senses, they will either buy you a ticket or take you out to dinner—or maybe just come home to dinner with you, but at least stick around long enough for you to throw them a dish towel while you are washing up. If not, revert to Plan A with Miss Manners’ blessings.
DEAR MISS MANNERS – Friends from out-of-town are coming to town to visit us and do some sightseeing. How can I politely ask them to stay in a hotel? We have a very small house and they have a very active 3-year-old boy who doesn’t like to wear his diapers around the house. These are good friends and I don’t want to hurt them, but the anxiety of the large crowd in my tiny house is beginning to unnerve me. Please help me find a way to break the news. I am desperate for a quiet weekend but don’t want to lose a good friend either.
GENTLE READER – Nobody who has a three-year-old is going to have a quiet weekend anyway, and nobody who has a three-year-old running around the house diaperless is going to have to worry about houseguests for long.
But you asked Miss Manners how to head them off. Originally, you should have responded to their announcement of arriving in town by saying, “How wonderful! We’ll be so happy to see you. Please let us know your schedule so we can figure out when would be good. Where are you staying, by the way?”
Now that it’s too late, what you should say is, “We were so looking forward to having you here, and I’m mortified that I haven’t been able to arrange things so that you will be comfortable. We want to see as much of you as possible, but of course you’ll want to be able to rest as well, so I think you’ll be better off in a quiet hotel.”
DEAR MISS MANNERS – I have received verbal invitations to about a dozen graduation parties from my graduating son’s dearest friends. How can I balance my desire to attend those parties with the responsibility to the three relatives who will be staying at my home for that weekend?
GENTLE READER – By finding something more interesting for them to do. Not that Miss Manners imagines anything more interesting than celebrating your son’s graduation. Neither do your relatives, which is why they will be there. But you can try offering them theater tickets, for example, or a friend to show them around. Unless you can persuade short-term houseguests that you are only being tactful by withdrawing for a short time so that they can do something they would prefer, you cannot run off and leave them.
You do have one last chance, though. When you decline those invitations, you can say that you are doing so because you have three houseguests—and then pause to see if your hosts choose to say “Well, bring them along.”
DEAR MISS MANNERS – When my husband and I entertain guests from out of town, we try to think of various activities in advance that the guests might enjoy, and to make preparations for meals according to their dietary needs. We often end up in a polite tug-of-war in which no one is willing to decide what we’re going to do or what we’re going to eat. The phrases “Anything is fine” or “I don’t care” become well worn, and in the meantime, nothing happens!
Perhaps we are all hopelessly indecisive, but it is because we were all raised to be as unobtrusive with one’s host or hostess as possible. As the hostess, I usually end up making the decision, but often feel uncomfortable in doing so.
GENTLE READER – What you describe is not so much a tug of war as a ritual, and you seem to have gotten stuck after correctly performing the opening step. The polite answer to “What would you like to do (or eat)?” is, indeed, “Anything is fine.” (Miss Manners does not care for the modernism, “I don’t care.”) But then the next question should be “Would you like to go to see the Monet exhibit or go bowling?” or “Would you prefer chicken or sweetbreads?” These require a specific answer. If none is offered, you must prompt your guests by saying “Either one is just as easy and enjoyable for us—please do us a favor and make the choice.”
DEAR MISS MANNERS – My husband’s parents are both smokers, and whenever we visit their home, I bring a small air purifier which I place in the bedroom where we sleep. Otherwise I feel extremely ill the entire time I am there. I also suffer from allergies which are aggravated by cigarette smoke.
My husband has told his parents that we are sensitive to cigarette smoke, me especially. They do their best to be considerate, but I am not sure that they understand how much it really bothers us, as cigarette smoke permeates everything. For example, they do not smoke in front of us. Instead, they smoke in the bathroom, their bedroom, or in any room which we are not in at the times they are. For instance, if we leave the house, we will smell the smoke in the kitchen when we return. They have also plugged in air fresheners and use air freshening sprays which mask the smell, but do not clean the air of smoke.
Would it be disrespectful of us to ask them if we could use air purifiers in other rooms of their house besides the bedroom? As it is their home and not mine, and I respect that I am in fact in someone else’s space, I do not want to offend them. I do dread visiting them though, because I always end up feeling sick.
GENTLE READER – Miss Manners usually feels sick when the word “smoking” wafts her way, but your inquiry is like a breath of purified air.
Both you and your in-laws are making an effort to keep from being offensive. It isn’t quite working yet, but bless your hearts anyway. Unlike the usual such clash—where the nonsmoker spreads disgust at the smokers, who react to protect their turf and their dignity—this has a chance of success.
Tell them how much you love to visit them, how appreciative you are of their inconveniencing themselves for you and how embarrassed you are at the extent of your problem. Then if you suggest that you put in air purifiers, it will sound like a solution, rather than a challenge.
DEAR MISS MANNERS – I have a cousin who spent the night, and that evening she was going through my things and looking all through my closet. So the next morning I asked her would she pick up all the things she took out and she just sat there, so I asked her again and she looked at me and turned around so I told her that she couldn’t spend the night any more. Do you think I did the right thing?
GENTLE READER – Almost. You should have resolved to do everything you could to prevent her from sharing your room again—but you should not have announced this to her. Miss Manners realizes that this is a subtle point. Going through the hostess’s closet and leaving her things in a mess are both violations of etiquette that deserve banishment. But chastising guests and announcing they can’t return are also violations of etiquette, however justly prompted.
Besides, there is the matter of making your decree of banishment stick. She is your cousin, and to bar her from spending the night in your room again (the relationship will undoubtedly allow her to get back through the front door) may require the sympathy and understanding of your parents. They are more likely to be on your side if you are able to show that you, at least, exercised mannerly restraint.
DEAR MISS MANNERS – Our family of five—my husband and I and our three children—have company quite often. It is usually family. When they come and stay overnight, I feel I must offer our beds to them, which means that some or all of us are usually out of a bed and onto the floor. With as frequent as visitors are (we have a large family) we find that this is a bit uncomfortable as well as annoying. I absolutely love company, the more people the merrier, I say. But is there anything I can do about this situation without making my guests feel uncomfortable and unwelcome? Please help!!!
GENTLE READER – Futons? Sofa beds? Planks and nails for building an addition on the house? Miss Manners suspects these are not the solutions you want—but after all, you have made her guess your question. Annoyed hosts usually come to her for help in ridding themselves of perennial houseguests, but your saying that you love company suggests this is not the case.
You want to stay in your own beds and put the company on the floor; is that it? And you want Miss Manners to tell you that this is not rude. If they are frail and/or elderly, it is rude. If they are young and/or robust—or at least no less so than you—it isn’t. So perhaps what you really need to know is how to tell people who previously occupied your beds that you would love to see them, but on the floor.
The answer is: by begging them to visit both immediately before and immediately after explaining the change. Something along the lines of, “Oh, you must come visit—we love having you here. I hope you don’t mind if I put you in the living room this time, but I’ll make sure you’re comfortable. We’ll all be so pleased to see you.”
DEAR MISS MANNERS – My mother-in-law, who is a widow, and her beau of several years plan to visit us this fall. They each live in their own houses. We have no idea what sleeping arrangements they would prefer for themselves. Could you please tell us whose responsibility it is (if there is a clear position on that) to inform us? Should she tell us, or should we ask? We feel it is their business, and only want them to feel comfortable with the arrangement. I think I am shy to ask, because I wouldn’t try, for any other reason, to find out whether they sleep together. If they arrive here and we still don’t know, could you please suggest a polite way to discover their preference without seeming to bias their answer?
GENTLE READER – Miss Manners, who admires your delicacy, does not know what guest facilities exist in your house. But presumably your mother-in-law does. “Where do you think you would be most comfortable?” can equally well elicit the reply “In the blue room, of course,” or “I suppose I’ll take the guest room as usual, and I’m sure Chester will be fine on the sofa.”
In the unlikely event that you have moved to larger quarters since she last visited, the question could be “How many rooms will you need?” She can still say, “Well, let’s see. I would dearly love to have a sitting room as well as my bedroom; I’m sure Chester will be fine on the sofa.”
Questioning is best done in advance, but upon arrival, you could say, “You know the house, Mother—where would you like to be?”
DEAR MISS MANNERS – I have a friend who visits me in my apartment. After urinating in my toilet, he refuses to flush it. He says this is a waste of water and that one should wait for additional urinations before flushing. I have assured him that there is no water shortage here and that I consider his behavior unsanitary and disgusting. What can I do? I do not want him urinating off my balcony nor do I want to lose his friendship by having him evicted.
GENTLE READER – What a charming choice you offer Miss Manners. But then, you move in charming circles. What third solution you might conceive of, other than tolerating or evicting a defiant houseguest, she cannot imagine. She certainly hopes you don’t think that she is going to march over there and make him flush the toilet or do it for him.
DEAR MISS MANNERS – I recently entertained houseguests who made a number of rather lengthy long-distance calls. I’d like to have them repay me, but at the same time, I’ve also been a houseguest of theirs on a number of occasions (but never made long-distance calls). How do I approach this gracefully?
GENTLE READER – Before the advent of the telephone credit card and other practical ways of billing oneself, this used to be a difficult problem. Polite guests were hesitant about repaying hosts for the cost of their calls, lest they be implying that the hosts were petty, and polite hosts could not bring themselves to send their departed houseguests bills. Now Miss Manners can simply classify houseguests who bill their hosts as being thoughtless to the point of rudeness.
But as you realize, it is still not simple for a polite host to collect. It remains unthinkable to send guests a bill as if you expected them to pay it, and they are certainly not going to pay it if they don’t get the bill. So you should ask them to check it instead. An accompanying note could read, “I’m so sorry to trouble you with a matter of my household accounting, but I was about to dispute the telephone company about this bill, when I realized that this is about the time you were here and the bill might actually be correct. Would you be kind enough to let me know?” If the return note is unaccompanied by a check, you will at least have been forewarned before inviting these people again.
DEAR MISS MANNERS – As a houseguest of friends or relatives, I feel an obligation to help clean up after meals. But everyone has quirks about how to prepare dishes for the dishwasher, load the washer, and even remove dishes from the washer to dry them again. Even offering to scrape and stack is complicated by what people will let go into the garbage disposal. In the days of sink washing, I always washed and let them dry and store. But what is one to do now? Should I ask where scrapings go, or what is done with dishes? I am not a rinser and I don’t want someone to feel put down when I asked if that is how they do it—as rinsers and spongers do to me. Just removing items from table to counter seems inadequate—there you are afterwards, standing around while others (especially older relatives) are working away. It seems impolite to go into the parlor and read the paper.
GENTLE READER – You have identified an amusing nuance of modern behavior, for which Miss Manners is grateful to you. Now that she thinks of it, the variations are infinite—those who want the flatware pointed downwards in the dishwasher basket, for example, and those who want it pointing upwards—and views on them are ferociously held.
But the fact is that a helper in someone else’s kitchen was always supposed to act as a helper, unempowered to make decisions. A polite offer of help is “What can I do?” followed by suggestions, and if necessary, “How would you prefer this done?” You must also be alive to the possibility that help is not really wanted. The last offer to be made then is “Well, should I stay here and chat, or would it be easier if I got out of the way?” It sometimes is, you know.
DEAR MISS MANNERS – Each summer, my husband and I, who have a large cottage on a pristine lake, with lovely bedrooms and other comfortable sleeping quarters, host a week-long reunion for his family. Great amounts of preparation are required—at least one solid week of hard labor for each of us. We have small children, my husband works long hours, and I maintain two households.
My spouse and I function as virtual slaves during their vacation, beginning with numerous trips to the airport. The heavier burden falls on me in terms of endless cooking, cleaning, washing dishes and clothes, and dealing with relatives who would prefer a firmer bed, less noise at night, an opinion on a relative with whom they are feuding, etc. I try to be kind and fair to all and keep backbiting to a minimum. A few relatives help, but most sit like royalty, waiting to be served. I have tried asking firmly for help—with minimal and short-lived success.
Last year, we served 171 adult meals and 89 child meals (yes, I counted), and received donations of $100 on at least $600 worth of groceries. I don’t want to sound mercenary, but this property costs us a great deal in mortgage, insurance, taxes and maintenance. My husband is loath to put any pressure on his family for fear of hurting their feelings or lowering attendance.
My questions are: How do I assure a more equitable distribution of chores? How do we solve the problem of financial contributions, including from those who have paid for airline flights? Do you have advice on dealing with accommodation complaints and gossip?
Or should I just be thankful they don’t come for Christmas?
GENTLE READER – Miss Manners is not at all surprised that two people find it difficult to give a large-scale house party. Edwardians who gave similar entertainments on their country estates not only had batteries of servants to help, but expected their guests to bring their own servants to tend to their demands. Those hosts still complained of cost, bickering, gossip and the tendency of guests to behave like royalty, which some of them were.
Yet Miss Manners admires your husband for wanting to maintain this tradition, even while she seeks to relieve you both of the impossible burden you have gallantly borne. The solution is to redefine the event. Don’t give a house party. Instead, offer your house as the base for a family reunion which is not “given” by yourselves but administered by a family reunion committee.
You will not offend people if you assemble them after a pleasant day and say how much their presence means to you, and how agonized you are by your inability to keep it up. Rather than abolishing an event that you cherish, and having to settle for inviting them individually (don’t worry, Miss Manners is not holding you to this), you inquire if the family could form a group that would plan it so that the work and effort could be shared, without making it a hardship on anyone.
“We wouldn’t want to miss any one of you at the next event,” Miss Manners would advise you to say winningly, “even if we had to do everything ourselves. But if some of you could get together and figure out what would be feasible to everyone, so that we could continue to have the delight of gathering you here, we would be so very grateful.” Miss Manners almost guarantees you that after the shocked silence, someone will come forward and say, on behalf of them all, how appreciative they are of your past efforts, and how much fun it would be to take an active part in putting on this wonderful event. But it might be well to have a particularly close and sympathetic relative briefed to say this, just in case.
“Just a line or two—write whatever happens to come to mind,” says a beaming friend, thrusting forward a nicely bound volume open to an alarmingly blank page.
“Anything—it doesn’t matter. A thought. Make up a poem if you like. Or you could draw a picture. Whatever you feel like will be fine.”
Whatever Miss Manners feels like doing at such a time is not fine. She feels like running away.
Surely she cannot be the only person terrorized by the guest book, the friendship book, the memory book, the collection of charming thoughts. If anything, she should expect to approach them with an advantage. Letters of thanks, which paralyze many people, come naturally to her. Condolence letters, considered notoriously difficult, overflow from her sympathetic heart. She has even been known to inflict 500-page books on a patient public. But a clever line that will gratify hosts and yet capture the interest of unknown guests to follow—perhaps inspire them as they flip back to see what is expected—is more daunting.
Everybody learns at an early age what to write in yearbooks: “Lots of luck,” “Keep in touch,” “Great knowing ya” (although how people get out of high school without the habit of spelling “you” properly remains as much of a mystery as who those people are, when viewed from the sophisticated perspective of a college dormitory).
Books of comments at clubs and commercial guest houses easily inspire such comments as “Great time, lovely view” and “Please get the bottom step repaired before someone breaks a leg on it.”
Masters of the genre are able to turn such simple observations into major pronouncements about civilization along the lines of: “Nobody seems to have complained that the bulb in the reading room is too dim for prolonged efforts, which says something about the state of literacy today, and indeed, about the values of the modern world.”
What is difficult about blank books is that they seem to be expecting something original. The point of keeping one, after all, is to have a keepsake to read years later, on rainy evenings, to remember all that good fellowship (or quaint querulousness) from the past.
And there seem to be more of such books being offered around these days. “We’re collecting notes from all our parents’ old friends to put into a volume we’ll give them as an anniversary present”—that sort of thing.
If Miss Manners could condemn this practice, she would—frankly, just to get out of it. But on what grounds?
She has no hesitation condemning those whose similarly worded suggestion is “We’re collecting money from all our parents’ old friends to give them an anniversary present,” for example. She gets them on greed—or rather, since they are collecting other people’s generosity so that they can provide a grand present without having to pay for it, greed once-removed.
Nor does Miss Manners hesitate to condemn the practice of thrusting a camcorder at guests and demanding that they say something about the occasion. She gets the interviewers on the charge of violating hospitality by causing embarrassment.
The book of mottoes, under whatever guise it is proffered, is a charming old custom that asks only for thoughts and tactfully offers time in which to compose them. About a minute and a half, while the book’s owner stands there with an expectant smile, and the other guests look as if they are impatiently brimming with memorable thoughts.
To relieve the rattled guest, Miss Manners offers a verse found in an album in the Monhegan Museum in Maine above the name of Mrs. Angie Humphrey:
If scribbling in albums
Remembrance secures
With the greatest of pleasure
I scribble in yours.
This may not be original, Miss Manners admits. But as it was around in 1885, at least any copyright has run out.
DEAR MISS MANNERS – My teenage daughter spent a long weekend with a friend’s family at their vacation home, bringing a hostess gift and homemade cookies with her. At the end, she thanked them “profusely,” in her words. I asked her to follow up with a written thank you. She claims that nowadays, it is not necessary to write a thank you note. I believe thank you notes have never gone out of style. We are awaiting your reply for future reference. Meanwhile, she is writing a note.
GENTLE READER – Why is it that when people (other than Miss Manners) unilaterally declare rules of etiquette to be obsolete, it always turns out to be rules that would otherwise cost them a bit of trouble?
Why isn’t your daughter arguing that in the 21st century, it is not necessary for other people to show her hospitality?
As long as such kindnesses are performed, showing gratitude for them will be necessary. And while she’s at it, your daughter might reflect on how grateful she should be to have a mother who is teaching her courtesy.