So apropos of practically nothing (there’s slight relevance; I’m just not sharing it), I’m singing all my favorite songs of the ’70s to Adam, arguing with him about what song is on which album and what year they were released and who owned the albums. Adam keeps claiming to have owned LPs of albums that came out when he was, like, two (don’t forget, I’m five years older than the boy). “I’m hotblooded! I’m hotblooded!”
Suddenly, I had a flashback to a conversation I had with my mom when I was about nine years old. I was singing, “If you want my body and you think I’m sexy, come on baby let me know!”
My mom heard me and said, “That song is terrible! I don’t think I approve of that song?”
Me: Why not?
Mom: “If you want my money and you think I’m sexy”? What is it about? A hooker?
Me: No! The line is “If you want my body.” His body.
Mom: Oh. I guess that’s okay then.
Is it any wonder I let my kids listen to Liz Phair? I think not.
