thank god for the lovely red dolls/decorating with books

My roommates and I recently hosted a 1950s-60s theme party inspired in part by our household addiction to Mad Men but mostly by a sweaty slipster 50s, 60s and 70s dance party we attended in Nashville at a sweet little hipster dive bar. Everything from the hairdos to the hors-d'oeuvres were meticulously researched to be era-appropriate. One partygoer who described himself as "a friend of a friend of a friend. You probably don't know me" informed me that he had been giving tours of someone's bedroom as an example of a "typical girl's bedroom. You know, the one with the copy of Valley of the Dolls." I was so distraught at the possibility that my room could possibly be typical and distracted by his spectacular pair of 1950s spectacles a la Harry Crane that I failed to consider how weird and creepy it was that a stranger was giving tours of my bedroom.