I met my boyfriend's Indian parents, and they are very orthodox.

Picture this: I'm standing in front of my boyfriend's Indian parents, feeling like I've just stepped into a time machine. Their eyes scan me from head to toe, probably searching for any sign of rebellion or Western influence. I swear I saw his mom clutch her pearls when she noticed my exposed ankles. Meanwhile, his dad's mustache twitches disapprovingly as he interrogates me about my "life choices." Suddenly, I'm transported back to the 1950s, complete with arranged marriages and the constant aroma of curry. Little do they know, I'm about to embark on a mission to win them over – or at least survive dinner without committing a cultural faux pas that'll haunt me for generations to come.

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