It doesn't seem right that one of the greatest social crimes is committed by those who are innocent of malicious intent. Surely, meaning well should count in etiquette, of all fields.
But not in the case of this crime, which is . . .It is . . .
It . . .
Yes.
Well.
It's . . . whatever.
Please forgive Miss Manners. Her memory isn't what it never was.
Oh, yes. The crime is forgetfulness.
Forgetfulness, the most understandable of slips, can also unfortunately be the most unforgivable.
Forgetting the name of an acquaintance is taken as a horrendous insult. Forgetting how to spell or pronounce such a name is hardly any better. Forgetting which of the many choices of separate or melded surnames and honorifics a couple prefers is tantamount to declaring war on their personal philosophy.
Forgetting an occasion, such as a birthday, is taken as a symbolic dismissal of enough vile significance to plunge the celebrant who had expected to be remembered into a murky mixture of despair and resentment.
Forgetting a social engagement is inevitably perceived as a snub so callous as to constitute an excuse for ending a friendship.
And forgetting that one has already told someone the same story or made the same confidence (complete with "You're the only person I'm telling ...") is taken as a sign that it is time for the speaker to retire from the social scene altogether.
What, then, is someone with a faulty memory supposed to do?
Miss Manners does not provide exercises for improving the memory. Her responsibility should be to provide methods of covering up a lapse of memory, or making amends for it.
But the truth is that the available methods are pretty lame. And potentially dangerous.
There is no use saying that honesty is the best policy to someone who has charmingly admitted, "I know I know you, but I just can't quite place you," if the reply is "I was your first husband."
And such coy tricks as "How do you spell your last name?" fail when the answer is "J-O-N-E-S."
All Miss Manners can suggest is total self-abasement: "I must be losing my mind. I know your name as well as I know my own. I'll never forgive myself. Never. I don't deserve to be your friend . . ." etc. The idea is to so wear out the offended person that it becomes easier to forgive than to listen to more of the same.
Forgetting occasions and social events is expensive as well as taxing. One must send a present or flowers along with self-incrimination.
Miss Manners' best advice is to fortify oneself in advance with both vigilance and humility.
Advance vigilance consists of checking the spelling of names, keeping lists of people's family members, and hanging the calendar of birthdays and social events where one can't help seeing it - over the bed in poster-size type, for example.
Advance humility means refraining from thinking, let alone making, accusations. "I'm sure you never told me" and "Who stole my keys?" are expressions that should be forgotten forever.
Miss Manners also recommends tolerance on the part of those who are never forgetful - or who don't remember when they have been. The polite person doesn't wait to be remembered or not, but announces his or her own name at every opportunity.
It is not only because one may soon become forgetful oneself that one should cherish the forgetful. It should be remembered that the forgetful can be wonderful friends:
They forget the incident when you made a fool of yourself. They forget any little slights and grudges - which may be less noble than forgiving you for them, but it is easier and more effective. They don't say "I told you so" when you get into trouble, because they forget whether they actually did. And they forget that the person you now say you love is the one you once said was a monster.
Did Miss Manners already tell you that?
DEAR MISS MANNERS - My grandparents have a desk that I would like. I do not want to hurt their feelings or to be pushy or rude. Is it all right to ask for the desk now, while they're alive, or to ask if they have stated in their will that the desk should be given to me?
I do not want to embarrass my mother - or myself. My mother is an only child, so she will probably be in charge of their estate, but I do not want to ask her for fear of hurting her feelings.
If this is totally out of line, please tell me so. My grandparents are in their early 90s. I have admired this desk ever since I was a little girl.
GENTLE READER - Yes, this is totally out of line. There is no polite way to make cheerful plans with people which, in order to be realized, involve their being dead.
What you can do, if you promise Miss Manners not to be obvious about it, is to admire the desk. You can tell your grandparents and your mother that you have loved it since you were a child, and hope that this will encourage them to think that you should inherit it.
When your grandparents actually are dead and their property is being dispersed, you may ask your mother, as executor, if she would be willing to let you have the desk, which you would cherish in their memory. Miss Manners hopes this will be a long time from now, as grandparents are harder to come by than desks.
In a dilemma about giving or receiving presents? Help is available in Miss Manners' "Present-Giving" pamphlet. Send $1.50, plus a long self-addressed stamped envelope, to Miss Manners, in care of this newspaper, P.O. Box 91428, Cleveland, OH 44101-3428.
Feeling incorrect? Address your etiquette questions (in black or blue-black ink on white writing paper) to Miss Manners, in care of this newspaper. The quill shortage prevents Miss Manners from answering questions except through this column.