While in Niagara Falls, the boys hounded us about going to Hooters.
“We’re on vacation. Puh-leeze?”
“I’m not sure Hooters is…uh, appropriate for boys your age.”
What was I thinking? Of COURSE it’s appropriate. Hooters is appropriate for boys of any age!
So we trudged off to Hooters. It was nearly empty. A very pretty blonde Hooter greeted us warmly and showed us to a table. She was wearing the Hooters uniform of a tight white top and tight orange short shorts, made of some unforgiving space age latex/nylon/polyester material. And then the heavy, camouflaging pantyhose under the shorts—a timeless look since 1983. She took our drink orders.
A minute later, another Hooter--this one brunette with a schnozz like Jimmy Durante—asked us for our drink orders. She was rather buxom, but we were hoping for the blonde.
“We just told the blonde,” I said.
She looked puzzled. I’d confused her.
“Uh, well, ok then.” She then left for a good long while, and eventually, after we started twisting our heads around the room looking for her, she returned.
The kids ordered. The dh and I weren’t hungry, but in the spirit of Hooters, ordered 10 wings.
She looked concerned. “Are you sure? That’s not a lot of food.” Judging from her muffin top, I could understand her thinking that.
“Well, we just ate not too long ago,” I said.
“But that’s not enough for two people.”
“It’s ok. Really.” She looked at us like we were insane. Then she changed gears. “What can I get you to drink?”
Again with the drink order. I'd had a bad raspberry daquiri before, and now I wanted a Pepsi. I asked for a Pepsi.
“What?”
“A Coke. A Pepsi. Whatever you have.”
“Ok.” She walked away. She returned 10 seconds later.
“I’m sorry. What did you say you wanted to drink?”
“Coke. Pepsi. Whatever.”
Five minutes later, she returned with our drinks. I got water.
An eternity after that, during which time people who had arrived well after we did were halfway through their own meals, our food arrived.
Boo’s hot dog was twisted and brown. Remy’s fries were cold. The plate of 10 wings looked like they had been sitting under a heat lamp for the last week or two. We didn’t want them fried, but that’s how they arrived. Fried under a big hot sun, so very, very fried. Arguably the worst wings I’ve ever had anywhere. In fact, the entire dining experience was probably the worst I’ve had in a long time.
We ate them anyway. We picked at the crispy fried skin and fat. In the spirit of Hooters.
The boys begged me for Hooters shirts, and I reluctantly bought them so they could get them autographed.
“Can you ask them?” Remy asked me.
“Nope. You wanted the shirts, you ask for the autographs.” Remy got all giggly and awkward, but joined his older brother to get autographs from these lamely famous Hooters.
“Breast wishes!” wrote Miranda.
“What’s up, hot stuff?” wrote Nicole.
“These Hooters girls think you’re a cutie!” wrote Jasmine, to Boo.
“We’re on vacation. Puh-leeze?”
“I’m not sure Hooters is…uh, appropriate for boys your age.”
What was I thinking? Of COURSE it’s appropriate. Hooters is appropriate for boys of any age!
So we trudged off to Hooters. It was nearly empty. A very pretty blonde Hooter greeted us warmly and showed us to a table. She was wearing the Hooters uniform of a tight white top and tight orange short shorts, made of some unforgiving space age latex/nylon/polyester material. And then the heavy, camouflaging pantyhose under the shorts—a timeless look since 1983. She took our drink orders.
A minute later, another Hooter--this one brunette with a schnozz like Jimmy Durante—asked us for our drink orders. She was rather buxom, but we were hoping for the blonde.
“We just told the blonde,” I said.
She looked puzzled. I’d confused her.
“Uh, well, ok then.” She then left for a good long while, and eventually, after we started twisting our heads around the room looking for her, she returned.
The kids ordered. The dh and I weren’t hungry, but in the spirit of Hooters, ordered 10 wings.
She looked concerned. “Are you sure? That’s not a lot of food.” Judging from her muffin top, I could understand her thinking that.
“Well, we just ate not too long ago,” I said.
“But that’s not enough for two people.”
“It’s ok. Really.” She looked at us like we were insane. Then she changed gears. “What can I get you to drink?”
Again with the drink order. I'd had a bad raspberry daquiri before, and now I wanted a Pepsi. I asked for a Pepsi.
“What?”
“A Coke. A Pepsi. Whatever you have.”
“Ok.” She walked away. She returned 10 seconds later.
“I’m sorry. What did you say you wanted to drink?”
“Coke. Pepsi. Whatever.”
Five minutes later, she returned with our drinks. I got water.
An eternity after that, during which time people who had arrived well after we did were halfway through their own meals, our food arrived.
Boo’s hot dog was twisted and brown. Remy’s fries were cold. The plate of 10 wings looked like they had been sitting under a heat lamp for the last week or two. We didn’t want them fried, but that’s how they arrived. Fried under a big hot sun, so very, very fried. Arguably the worst wings I’ve ever had anywhere. In fact, the entire dining experience was probably the worst I’ve had in a long time.
We ate them anyway. We picked at the crispy fried skin and fat. In the spirit of Hooters.
The boys begged me for Hooters shirts, and I reluctantly bought them so they could get them autographed.
“Can you ask them?” Remy asked me.
“Nope. You wanted the shirts, you ask for the autographs.” Remy got all giggly and awkward, but joined his older brother to get autographs from these lamely famous Hooters.
“Breast wishes!” wrote Miranda.
“What’s up, hot stuff?” wrote Nicole.
“These Hooters girls think you’re a cutie!” wrote Jasmine, to Boo.
Yeah. Guess now the boys are big Hooters fans.
7 comments:
Personally, I would have had to knock back at least one cocktail during a hooters trip. Too bad about the food - it's usually not too bad (meaning it's hot and prepared recently).
H.
PS Shockingly Hooters isn't big on my kids list of "must-go-to-eateries". Go figure
They didn't have a full bar! I ended up getting some disgusting raspberry daquiri mix thing, but it was like drinking a Slurpee.
OMG, you went to a ghetto hooters!!!
You mean there's another kind?
You're so freakin funny Carey...the boys don't realize what a cool mom they have...they will one day! Love ya.
I remind them of that every day.
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