DEAR MISS MANNERS: It is like a compulsion for many people to forward emails they’ve received, usually filled with jokes and such. To my surprise, many seem to enjoy those emails.
I stopped everybody from forwarding me those emails by telling them the truth: If I want jokes, I will buy a book of jokes. I have TV sets, radios, newspapers and all kinds of ways I can get the latest news from around the world. I also have a computer that gives me everything I want and need, but when I want and need it.
Some of my friends were surprised at my decision. “Oh, but my jokes are SO funny!” they tell me, but I never lost an interesting correspondent by telling them not to send me any forwarded messages. I delete them right away.
GENTLE READER: So you already have a solution. You just want to admonish your humorless friends and boast about how dispensable they are? Yes, the practice of forwarding these emails can be annoying. But if that is your test for good companionship, Miss Manners fears you will have a lonely life of censoring everyone you know.
Because bad taste in humor (or more accurately, taste that is something other than your own) is not just confined to inboxes, but to all social situations, even (especially) familial ones. One would think it would be easier just to humor the humorless and quietly delete their emails, rather than obliterate the relationship with their senders.
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DEAR MISS MANNERS: My partner, Derek, our lady friend, Jessica, and I dined at a highly renowned restaurant in the big city. The waitstaff was young and attractive, the silverware was clean, and the food was attractively displayed when we were served. Derek and Jess each had a drink, I had water, and the bill came to something just south of $200.
My companions are used to fine dining, but I was shocked when the food was delivered. It was like a joke — the plate was nearly empty. The “meal” was artfully prepared, probably with rare and desirable ingredients, but after dinner, I went to a real restaurant and got a cheeseburger.
It’s not my inclination to make a scene when we’re out having a nice time, so I didn’t, but if we ever go “fine dining” again, what are my rights as a customer? Should I have sent the plate back to the kitchen and told them to put some real food on it?
GENTLE READER: You already know the answer to that.
“Fine dining” is often synonymous with pretentiousness and sadly, the joke is on us when the portions are laughably small — if no doubt artfully prepared and sustainably sourced.
Miss Manners suggests that next time a restaurant like this one is suggested, you look up the menu (and accompanying pictures) online beforehand. At least that way you can be prepared — either by suggesting somewhere else or by eating hearty appetizers beforehand.
