Gentle counter-shaming may deter the coercion to indulge

Dear Miss Manners: I have a digestive issue that requires me to make certain accommodations to avoid a lot of unpleasantness for days to come. At meals, I restrict myself to small portions, and can’t even think about rich desserts. I also feel much more comfortable in loose clothing.

The problem developed during the pandemic. Now that I am back to seeing some people, I find they can’t refrain from annoying comments on my eating habits and clothing choices. As you can imagine, they assume I’m trying to maintain my weight (I’d actually like to gain some back) and say things like, “Oh, you can afford it” or “One bite won’t kill you.”

Regarding clothing, unable to look at one more pair of sweats or yoga pants, I often wear dresses. Neighbors ask why I’m so “dressed up.” The hostess at the first gathering I’d attended in two years actually implied I was overdressed and making others uncomfortable.

I’d love to indulge in a great meal or fantastic dessert or wear my skinny jeans again, but the aftermath just isn’t worth it. (Why skinny jeans you have to slither into are considered more laid-back than a dress you pull over your head is beyond me, but that’s another story.) I especially hate to demur when a guest brings a great dessert, but I must. I don’t think I owe these people a detailed medical history, but simply referring to a “medical issue” can make it sound too serious.

Gentle reader: It seems to be a universally accepted truth that all people really want to do is indulge in fattening foods while wearing sweatpants. And that anyone who claims otherwise is only in need of coercion or bullying in order to succumb. Insisting that they give in to the temptation is doing no one’s powder rooms any favors.

If you do not wish to oblige them by making yourself sick, you must stand firm. A repeated “No, thank you” will do — or, if you feel you must, “I’m afraid that I simply cannot, but I am happy to live vicariously through you. It looks delicious.”

And jeans, while pleasant for some, are like sausage casings for others. A good high-necked dress or a suit and tie may be genuinely more comfortable. (Miss Manners has more than one gentleman friend who prefers to wear the latter while aboard an airplane — or even while taking a nap.)

She therefore suggests that you gently countershame these narrowminded comfort-seekers: “On the contrary, my intention was not to make others uncomfortable, but to be comfortable myself. Surely you are not in the habit of defining that for others.”

A woman companion of mine was invited to a longtime friend’s home and asked me to accompany her. The invitation was for “dessert only,” as many of the other guests were also invited for dinner a couple of hours earlier.

The dinner crepes were very tasty, we were told by the dinner guests.

What are the points of etiquette in all of this? I seek your response as a point of information and

Dear Miss Manners:

with no ill feelings — I later married the hostess.

Gentle reader: Well, you showed her, didn’t you?

While the depth of your forgiveness is remarkable, Miss Manners is afraid that your wife and former hostess did, in fact, breach etiquette. You may invite people for dinner and you may invite people for dessert, but you may not do so for different people within the same evening. It makes it all too clear which of the guests are preferred.

Except, of course, in your case. So clearly your wife has learned her lesson — and you have finally gotten to taste the dinner crepes.

Dear Miss Manners: We are the devoted parents of a beloved canine companion. Unfortunately, he has a chronic health problem that is noted by many of the people we encounter on daily walks. Many people kindly inquire about his well-being, but far too many follow up with questions about his likely life expectancy. I find this to be thoughtless and upsetting, and feel certain that such things would never be asked about family members that get about on two legs rather than four.

Would Miss Manners please suggest a response that would communicate the distress that this question causes, and help discourage it from ever being asked again?

Gentle reader: “Life is always so uncertain. But I hope you are doing well?”