I love Hooters!
My parents have been taking me to Hooters every Friday since I was eight.
It was bad because we’d walk in and the Hooters girls would already have my parents’ drinks ready.
Since I was picky and wouldn’t eat anything off the menu, my dad would ask for this thing for me called a Hooters sandwich which was basically wings and a bun and mustard.
I was a pro at the hula hoop that they had there, although I don’t think I was the demographic that the customers were hoping to see.
One time we had to leave early because they started the Hooters bikini contest and you had to be 18 or older to be there. They put tarp over the windows.
I still go there with my family.
You got this dish’s digits?
I’m not sure whether to pass this entry to a couple dudes at the LBS and swap high fives and fist bumps, or to write a long jeremiad about the way our society is falling apart.
Oh, nevermind. I’m off to the bike shop to pass this along and do fist bumps.