Hooters

You would think as a quasi-flaming feminist I would hate Hooters. Not so.  Back in the day it might have been scandalish to work at Hooters, but nowadays in the summer, women pretty much dress like that anyhow. They might as well be getting some good tips out of it.

Also, their hot wings are freaking fantastic.

So, last Friday I was trying to get HR Guy to drive me downtown (roughly 2 miles) to go get some Hooters hotwings, takeout style.

I sent him this haiku to try and convince him:

Let’s get some Hooters
Short shorts and tasty hot wings!
Yum Happy Friday!

This was his humorous response:

Two, wait no, three things on this one.  First, the allure and enjoyment of this establishment is the casual dining in restaurant experience where I am fawned after by women who are out of my league as if I were in an Al Bundy fantasy montage from Married with Children.  This privilege is not shared with your standard pick up order.  Second, I seem to recall Haiku’s about sandwiches that were used to persuade me and then when I was swayed, no buy in from the person whose idea it was.  You are like the girl who cried sandwich day.  Finally, I am pretty sure the last time I consumed wings at Hooters I got sick immediately thereafter and threw up when I got home.  Was it poisoning HR Guy? Good question, and let me answer that by saying I am not sure.

I do, however, know this.  I have, over the course of my formative years put some pretty awful things in my person for consumption.  Various boozes and concoctions from bars that have sedated me like a poached elephant.  Food, that has fallen on the floor, and some times combinations that are less than savory because as a single guy I do not own complimenting side dishes to go with my main course.  None of these things have created the feeling, reaction, and residual feeling that this particular hooters meal had.

So I say unto you, no, I would not enjoy Hooters wings today.  I would not eat them with Bobby Flay.  I would not eat them at all, no way, even if brought to my table by Rachel Ray.  I would not eat them on a boat, I would not try them with a goat.  I would not eat them with Mia Hamm, I would not eat them, Sam I Am.

Good day.

So yeah, it is safe to say we did not Hooters. We did, however, have sandwich day!