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The door to the lavish hotel suite clicked shut, sealing the new husband and wife in the quiet intimacy of their wedding night.
With a playful, triumphant glint in his eye, the groom slipped out of his tailored trousers and held them out to his bride.
“Here, my love,” he said, his voice dripping with mock ceremony. “A gift for you. Put these on.”
The bride took the heavy wool pants, holding them up against her waist.
The legs pooled comically on the floor. She raised an eyebrow. “Darling, these are enormous. I’d be swimming in them.”
“Exactly,” he declared, puffing out his chest with a smug grin. “And that’s how you know I’m the one who wears the pants in this family.”
The bride didn’t flinch. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips.
She gracefully bent down, opened her own suitcase, and retrieved a delicate pair of lace underwear.
“Wonderful,” she cooed, handing them over. “Now it’s your turn. Put these on.”
The groom stared at the flimsy silk in his large hands.
He tried to stretch them, his face a mask of confusion and futility.
“Don’t be absurd! I could never get into these!”
In one smooth motion, she plucked them from his grasp, folded them with deliberate care, and placed them back in the drawer.
“And you never will,” she said, her voice soft but firm as steel, “if you keep that attitude.”
