With This Ring ...

My former fiancée is 41; I am 55 and recently divorced. After two years together, she sent me a picture of the ring she wanted and threatened to end the relationship if I didn’t get it for her. (My ex-fiancée also disapproved of the mediation my ex-wife and I used for our divorce.)

I had the ring made immediately. A month later, she told me she was committed to another man. I was devastated.

She gave the ring back. But it cost $16,000, and jewelers tell me it has limited value because it was custom made. Should my ex-fiancée share in the financial loss?

J.S., Brooklyn

Forgive me, Diamond Jim, but your 10-carat tale of woe is not exactly a shocker. There were more flags on the field than in that old Burt Reynolds football movie, “The Longest Yard.”

No sane person (other than executives at Court TV or Nancy Grace) would forgo peaceful mediation in favor of all-out war. And how did you reach 55 without learning the lesson of ultimatums?

As soon as someone says, “My way or the highway,” head for the on-ramp. Your fiancée’s threat to cut you loose over a ring was not kosher. For better or worse, marriage is about slogging through, not “or else” — unless we’re talking dirty socks on the bedroom floor.

Still, buying the sparkler was your decision. So, rather than haggle over a contribution, prepare for the next time: Figure out why you behaved like a love-struck teenager with a gold card. (And when you do, please get in touch with Gov. Mark Sanford.)

Call me extravagant, but given the prospects of your would-be marriage, spending $16,000 to avoid it sounds like getting off cheap.

Spine-Mangling Tale

My husband and I spent the weekend with good friends at their home. We slept in the guest room on an old fold-out couch that was horribly uncomfortable. I suspect my friends have not tried it recently. They have out-of-town guests frequently, and I hate to think of others being as uncomfortable as we were. Should I tell them, or am I being too picky?

Anonymous

If you’re going to have a “Princess and the Pea” moment, you may as well go all the way. Remember, it was the Princess’s hissy fit about her miserable night, pea-top, that proved her hoity-toity provenance and assured her marriage to the snobby Prince.

So fasten your tiara and go for it: “It was so nice of you to have us for the weekend. But since you entertain frequently, we thought you’d like to know that the pull-out wasn’t very comfortable.” With any luck, you’ll soon be trading in your husband for royalty — or at least someone from King of Prussia.

If it were your sofa, you’d want to know, right? Unless that lousy bed is part of an ingenious plan to keep the overnight trade moving along.

Marking Territory

We have a dog sitter who spends the night at our house when we are out of town. She is great with the dogs. My problem is that she wears patchouli oil, which I cannot stand. When she sleeps in our bed, it reeks of the stuff. I don’t want to hurt her feelings or have her fire us. Can I ask her not to wear the scent when she stays?

Deborah Dinerman, San Francisco

Good news, Deborah — and some bad.

You have every right to ask the hound-sitter to lay off the patchouli — though you should probably not mention her Stevie Nicks macramé shawls. Just make sure to couch your request in steaming piles of praise for how much you (and the dogs) love her.

But patchouli, like many essential oils, has a half-life of approximately 24,000 years. So even if she agrees, your sofa and bed will continue to reek of the Summer of Love long after you, the pooches and I have all gone to that Great Dog Park in the Sky.

Ruff.

His Germs Are So Cute!

I was in line at the bakery. Behind me were a father and his 8- or 9-year-old son. The boy coughed on me constantly, never covering his mouth. The father said nothing. I left as quickly as possible. What can you do in that situation?

Liz Biber, Los Angeles

You mean, other than thank your lucky stars you’re not a second-grade teacher?

Here’s what you do: Put on a ferociously friendly face and sweetly remind the child: “Don’t forget to cover your mouth,” while smiling like an idiot at the delinquent parent.

But I warn you: If there is even a hint of judgment on your face or in your voice, then batten down the hatches. Even when executed perfectly, this approach can backfire. Many Mama and Papa Bears feel criticized by this “It Takes a Village” stance — but are happy, apparently, to infect the rest of us with whooping cough.

For help with an awkward social situation, send queries to socialq@nytimes.com or Social Q’s, The New York Times Style Department, 620 Eighth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10018. Please include a daytime telephone number.

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