The first time my husband-to-be and I went to meet my parents at their home, my grandfather was living with them. He shook hands with my young man and handed him a Playboy to read while waiting for dinner. Later, over dinner, Grandpa explained to him how members of a certain religious group ran the world. (My dear boy later confessed that he was really tempted to tell Grandpa he himself was a member of said religious group, just for the lulz.) Then he did impressions of a person of color who used to collect their garbage back in the 1950s, and regaled us with tales of his uncle who emptied septic tanks for a living. Note that Grandpa did not have dementia or anything; he was that way all his life. I miss him.

It really took the pressure off my darling to make a good impression!