After getting engaged, my future in-laws had us over for dinner. After having a wonderful dinner and a few glasses of wine, my future mother-in-law shouted, “Oh! I almost forgot!” before running out of the room. She returned with a large bag, which she proudly handed to me. “Since I never had a daughter, it’s all yours!” Then, while everyone watched, I pulled out a huge, long, tattered, old veil.
She then told me it was her grandmother’s, and that three generations have worn it, and she would be honored to have me carry on the tradition.
The fact that this thing was hideous and not even remotely my taste wasn’t even the worst part. It was the smell. This veil had clearly been worn to many weddings but never washed. It was so gross. I mean I was excited to get to know my fiance’s family better, but I didn’t need to share sweat marks with his ancestors. Barf.