Nearly two months have passed, but Debbie Nemecek still is stewing.

It's not that she's angry. It's just that it's always there . It's that prickly feeling, like the starchy label in a shirt collar that keeps rubbing the same spot on your neck. It may seem like a little thing, but after a while, it's all you can think about.

Debbie needed to vent.

"I'm alarmed," she told me. "I'm alarmed at the steady decline in Americans' manners."

This particular group of Americans is composed of people she loves, which is why Debbie decided to write them a letter. It's also why her husband and sister kept pleading, "No, Debbie, please, Debbie, don't send that letter."

I never have met Debbie, but somehow she got the impression I might know a thing or two about relatives wincing over what a woman writes. So she sent the letter to me first.

"What should I do?" she said. "Send it or not?"

I quickly discouraged her. If Debbie mailed that letter, only 50 people would read it. We need millions of Americans to read what Debbie has to say.

I'm happy to do my part.

Debbie's message boils down to this: When you get an invitation and it includes the words "regrets only," you're supposed to let the host know if you can't come.

If the invitation includes the letters "RSVP," that means respond, please. You're supposed to do that.

In July, Debbie mailed invitations to more than 120 friends and family members to her annual pig roast. The invitation read, "Regrets only." Debbie gave a deadline and two ways to reach her.

Based on the paltry responses, Debbie ordered enough food for 125 guests.

She ended up with 50 fewer guests than she expected and $800 worth of food she didn't need.

With a "heavy heart," she wrote a letter to explain the mechanics of invitations.

"RSVP," she wrote, means that a guest should "call/write/email/send smoke signals/or employ the Pony Express to notify the host/hostess of your intent to join the festivities (or not)."

She continued. "Regrets Only … dictates that you WILL be present, unless you have contacted the host/hostess otherwise (see above methods of communication), and declined by the date indicated."

Debbie assured them she understands people get sick and even die — but not 50 relatives at once. Especially not relatives. She'd know if any of them died because she usually only sees relatives at funerals, which is why she came up with the pig roast idea in the first place.

"Relatives should get together for fun, too," she said.

Debbie let everyone know how much money they cost her by not showing up, and then she ended by saying she loved each and every one of them and suggested they purge their guilty consciences with checks to the Cleveland Foodbank or other charities.

She signed the letter, "Peacefully yours."

I'm with Debbie on this one, even though I worry that I occasionally have joined the ranks of those she rightfully scorns. No excuse for me, either.

My mother was strict about manners. Regrets, thank yous, oh, but you shouldn't haves — you name it, we expressed it. We also showed up an hour early for so many banquets that my best memory of them is sitting in an empty room as Mom gossiped with the kitchen staff about how so many people didn't know how to raise their children anymore.

And that was in 1966.

So I get the need for manners, and I appreciate Debbie's reminder. I also don't want to turn into one of those people who bray that they just get too many invitations to keep up. That's like complaining you've got too many friends. Try whining about that a few times and you'll have free time faster than you can order takeout for one.

Now back to Debbie's relatives.

Folks, I can help. Debbie and Jim are celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary next week.

Wouldn't a card be nice?

No response necessary.

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain Dealer in Cleveland and the author of two books from Random House: "Life Happens" and "… and His Lovely Wife." To find out more about Connie Schultz (cschultz@plaind.com) and read her past columns, please visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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