The last wedding I went to was at the couple’s house in Greenwich, Connecticut. They were fashion people. They had a big tent in the backyard and every possible bell and whistle. There were probably 350 or 400 guests. Even the Porta-Potties were fully equipped, luxurious trailers. I was sitting at the table of the grandmother of the bride, and I said to her, looking around in awe, “This is phenomenal!”

She looked at me with a trace of pity and said, “You must not get out much.”

This was the bride’s grandmother! Isn’t she supposed to rave about her family? Isn’t she supposed to be enthusiastic?

She’s right, I don’t get out much,I thought. But even so! This is an incredible wedding.

This couple really wanted a lavish party, but I pity brides today who feel that breaking the bank is an obligation. Weddings seem so stressful to me in general; it’s a wonder how anyone who’s throwing one feels like getting married at all by the end.

I know someone who rented the whole Yale Club and had a towering raw bar for the postceremony cocktail hour. This was before the multicourse sit-down dinner for more than two hundred people. They must have spent a quarter of a million dollars.

I always say in a case where you’re already breaking the bank (as on one of those ridiculously priced designer handbags), you should spend 10 percent less than you’ve budgeted and give that extra money to charity. Your wedding guests won’t notice if there’s one less tier of oysters and lobster claws, but 10 percent of a fortune can make a real difference to people who truly need it.

Given how expensive weddings can be these days, I understand how eager the couple is to receive money as a gift, but if that’s the case, they should simply throw a cheaper party. I have thankfully never been to a wedding where the bride walks around with a money bag, though I have heard tell of them. Miss Manners calls this “simple social blackmail,” and she’s right.

Besides, there’s no shame in marrying simply. In Washington when I was growing up, weddings were typically a ceremony followed by a champagne reception. There was never a meal associated with a wedding. If you felt you had to feed the out-of-town people, you did it the night before at the rehearsal dinner. Ultimately, whenever you’re entertaining, it’s good to work within the budget you have, and if that means you just do a cocktail hour, that’s totally fine. Just make sure it’s a fun and gracious cocktail hour.

Generally speaking, I am all for doing things cheaply whenever possible. For example, I prefer not to take taxis or limos. For some reason, people don’t believe that I take public transportation. They assume that I have a car service, or maybe even a sedan chair carried by nubile models. In fact, I take the subway twice a day on average, and I salute its relative speed and convenience.

The subway is, however, a petri dish of bad manners. I’m not talking about mild nuances of behavior or even some of the craziness that takes place within the train’s cars or on the more oppressive platforms where riders sweat or freeze and hold their nose or ears. That’s just the sound and smell of New York.

I’m talking about the way people push and shove and act as if they are in the Thunderdome. Why do people ascending the stairs behave as though it’s perfectly acceptable to leave no room for people who are descending and vice versa? There is adequate room for one aisle to go up and one to go down.

What happened to using words instead of actions as the means of moving past people who are obstacles in your path? I find that merely saying, “Excuse me, please …” is a successful method. I have never needed to push, shove, or body block my way through a crowd, so you needn’t, either. And remember that backpacks, wheeled luggage, and baby strollers were not invented to be used as battering rams. I like getting around the city fast, but I often feel kind of beaten up by the time I reach my destination.

Another place where it seems like niceties have been completely abandoned is on airplanes. I have to fly all the time for work. As we know, flying used to be a very glamorous thing and is now only a hair less miserable than a cross-country trip on an un-air-conditioned bus in August.

Still, quite frankly, I look forward to that airline door closing. There is no phone. There is no Internet (although airborne Internet access is surely in our future). I am insulated. I can actually just focus and write on my computer or read a book. It’s heaven. But I can’t sleep on planes, which is why taking overnight flights makes me crazy. I am always wide awake. I am the perfect person for the exit row. If the pilot ever needs me, I am right there, ready to go.

Maybe that’s why strange things are always happening to me on planes. One time, I had my seat in coach and was just about to start reading when a woman came down the aisle with an eight- or nine-year-old child and sat next to me in the middle seat, with this large child on her lap. She thought children could travel for free, and no one had stopped her.

Seats today are close quarters to begin with, but this was ridiculous. No one in the aisle could move. Eventually, the flight attendant came and sorted things out and explained that children over two need their own seats, but until then I thought I was going to be pinned down by a large preteen for the whole flight.

Once when I flew from Paris to New York, we made an emergency landing in Boston because a famous nightclub owner and her teenage son refused to stop smoking. Something similar happened once when I was flying from New York to Detroit early on a Sunday morning. There was a bad-tuxedo group—the men wearing these hideous purple and pale blue tuxedos and the women clad in acetate gowns—throwing lit cigarettes at one another. The pilot ended up leaving the cockpit to come yell at them. When we landed, the sheriff got on board and took them away.

Another time when I boarded, an older man was sitting in my seat. I asked him about his seat, and he didn’t seem to understand me. I said, “If you’re in my seat, where’s your seat? Because I’ll sit in it.”

When that failed, I approached the flight attendant and explained the situation. She said, “Well, just take a seat.”

“Aren’t these seats assigned?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “but if someone comes and you’re in his seat, you can just move.”

“But this man in my seat must have an assignment of his own.” I said again. “Can’t you just help me figure out what it is, and then I’ll sit there? It will make it so much easier for everyone.”

She was completely and totally uninterested in helping facilitate. I realized I was being really annoying, but I stood in the vestibule by the entrance to the plane until there was only one seat left, and then I sat there.

So it’s not just the fellow passengers who can make a flight difficult, sometimes it’s the flight attendants. They say they’re there for your safety and to do anything they can to make you more comfortable, but sometimes their stress levels get the better of them and they become more like jail wardens than attendants.

On a flight to Tampa for a speaking assignment, I sensed there was going to be trouble when I saw a very young flight attendant who seemed furious. Can’t you just tell when someone has an aura of hostility? The second you see them you know they’re going to be troublesome. Sure enough, a woman came on the plane with a huge, unwieldy roller bag, and she told this angry flight attendant, “Excuse me, but I’m going to need help putting this in the overhead.”

The response: “Then you had no business bringing it on board.”

Debatable.

“But I do have it on board,” the woman said, “and I do need help.”

And the flight attendant said, “Well, you’re not getting any help from me. That’s not what we’re here for. When you get to your seat, you’ll have to ask someone.”