One person not as excited about this plan as I was? My loving mother. Not used to the adolescent desires of teenagers, my mother took one look at that poster, decided we did not live in a brothel, and uncharacteristically ordered me to take it down immediately. This would not do, and led to a heated discussion of hey-it’s-my-room, well-it’s-my-house, etc. I struck on an idea.
“Dad would let me keep it up.” I wasn’t sure, but willing to take my chance on his opinion when he arrived home from work.
“He most certainly would NOT,” insisted my mother.
“If dad says I can keep it up, can I?” Normally my dad would side with my mother unconditionally. They were conspirators of the highest degree, usually uniting against anything cool (or dangerous) I wanted to do.
Mom gave me that I’ve-got-you-now look. “Sure. If your father says you can keep this up, by all means, keep it up.” She walked out of the room, readying a new trash bag especially for my beloved bathing suit Farrah.
“Dad, I’ve got a question for you,” I said innocently. The three of us walked back to my small bedroom. The bright sunlight of Farrah and her ... chili-ness washed over my father.
“Dad, there’s no problem keeping this poster in my room, is there?” I asked, no doubt with big, baby seal eyes.”
He drank in the poster for the briefest of moments. Without hesitation, he said. “I don’t see anything wrong with it."
Mom was apoplectic. “What!? Doesn’t that seem a little ... inappropriate to you?”
“Nope,” said dad. “Looks fine to me.”
What? Did I just win?! All right Dad!
Mom gave me a resigned look, but a deal was a deal. Alas, she never warmed up to Farrah. Sometimes parents just don’t understand.