My father's mother, Kitty, was.. um... how do I put this delicately?... a paranoid, delusional, alcoholic asshole.
That covers it.
Kitty firmly believed that my father was destined to be a Catholic priest, and kept right on believing that until after the third child was born*.
So, Kitty never liked my mother. As a result, this was going to be a tense time for everyone.
Well, Kitty walked into my parents' bedroom while mom was unpacking. At this point, mom was putting clothes away, including my father's underwear.
Kitty was horrified... HORRIFIED... that my mom was touching her son's undergarments.
At first, mom was surprised. I mean, really, of all the things to freak out about... Kitty chooses THIS?
Then, she tried to reason with Kitty. Have you ever tried to reason with someone who was drunk? If so, ou already know that it didn't go well.
That night, Kitty (and my grandfather) hosted a party, so the neighborhood could meet their daughter-in-law.
During the entire party, Kitty kept making snide remarks about my mom handling dad's underwear.
Mom laughed it off the first time, then warned Kitty to drop the subject.
Kitty did not. She said it one too many times, and my mom finally looked at her and said, "I am eight months pregnant with your son's baby. I PROMISE you I've touched far more than just his underwear."
Mom said this loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Kitty never discussed the subject again.
A little public embarrassment can go a long way.
*Kitty later convinced herself that none of us were her grandchildren, but that's another story.