I stopped wearing pánts to bed at night the day my husband’s father visited my house, because of their tradition, but the moment he started pẹeping under my sklrt at the dining table, I knew that this was more than tradition.
“My father is the head of the house and we must obey him,” my husband said. “Any time he visits, we must show him that we have nothing to hide; this is our tradition for peace and long life.”
I was in disbelief, thought my husband was joking but there was not a single smile on his face.
“Honey, how can I stay without wearing pánts? What sort of tradition is this?” I asked, disgusted.
“My love, this is a golden rule in our family that must be passed down from generation to generation.”
At that point I was confused, so many questions were running through my mind.
What sort of tradition was that? In fact, how would his father even know if I truly wear a pánt or not?
But I never knew what was coming…
