On the road to Damascus, God converted St Paul, not with a threat or an order, but with a question. Questions convert us, define us, impel us. Even the most silly ones. The thing is, like Coleridge, we all have a smack of Hamlet, don't we?
You love your girlfriend, you really do. And you know how much she wants her parents to like you, so you do everything in your power to please them. But then, one day, you enter the men’s room of a shopping mall, hear a toilet being flushed, and there he is, your father-in-law. With the broadest smile, offering you his hand - his too obviously unwashed hand. Do you shake it in the name of love? Do you allege some kind of deadly tropical disease you don’t want to contaminate him with? Or do you fling yourself to the floor, feigning a paralyzing stroke?
Do you fervently wish your daughter to be the most beautiful girl in the world - knowing it may considerably increase her self-confidence and her chances of happiness - or would you rather have her not so beautiful - and perhaps not so happy - so she isn’t pestered by all the rapacious males?