Yesterday I met up for lunch with several of the women I once worked with at the defunct Bako ad agency. They had adopted me after the agency folded and we get together every few months to catch up.
We met where we always do for a leisurely lunch... Red Robin. I had never had the pleasure of experiencing Red Robin before we moved here. They have unlimited fries.
At some point the conversation turned to Hooters. Don't ask me why, it just did. I was seated across from Karen, a fit and 40 Bako native with the textbook definition of a Bakerdoo, every hair lacquered in place.
"I've been to a lot of Hooters and the one here sucks" she said.
I believe her when she says she's been to a lot of Hooters. I also believe her when she says this one sucks. I wouldn't know.
"The one here just isn't as classy as the others."
I just about snorted my ice tea out my nose.
"If you're going to have the servers in shorts with bare midriffs, you need to hire accordingly" she said.
"I don't want to be looking at no cottage cheese thunder thighs or staring at a muffin top."
She sighed a heavy sigh.
"I guess that's what you get when you hire local girls."
Amen to that.
