Me Tarzan, which one is Jane!
It was my birthday, (July 2nd if you want to send me a present) and Margo asked me where I wanted to go for dinner. As I had never celebrated my birthday at Hooters before, I figured it was way past time to rectify that error.
The closest Hooters to Brighton (home town) is the one in Westminster, CO. It took us (Me, Margo, Jessi and Pete) about 30 minutes to get there. It is always a subject of debate, to tell or not to tell. As in, tell your waitress it’s your birthday, or not. Ordinarily, I would call this a pseudo-debate, because deep down you want the fuss and bother that most restaurants go through when you tell them of the occasion.
Please observe the key works in the last sentence; “ordinarily” and “deep down”. Are you kidding me? You didn’t even have to break the skin looking to see that I wanted the Hooters Girls to know it was my birthday. Beautiful women paying extra attention to me. That’s a point to debate?
The girls cheering me on
It’s amazing the effect that bright orange short shorts, a pretty face, and a low cut tank top have on your memory. It had not been that long ago when I had taken my daughter, at her request, to Hooters for her birthday. If my attention and focus had been on that event, instead of orange and white curves, I might have recalled Jessi standing up on a bar stool, singing and barking on command. Getting attention from pretty girls is one thing. Being the center of attention is another.
But, it was too late.
We had finished eating and our waitress led me over to a nearby stool, helped me up and announced to the room it was my birthday. Now I have been on the viewing end of these things many times. After the first 5 seconds of “Attention it is Joey Six-Pack’s birthday and we are gonna…….”, my attention is back on my meal. At Hooters, with a 230 pound guy up on a bar stool, surrounded by scantily clad women, the room almost went silent. They must have figured that at least I might fall off and provided Three Stooges-like comedy relief. After the birthday proclamation, I was advised that my job was to beat my chest like King Kong, while they sang their birthday song. If I failed, we would have to start over and do it again. Not wanting to risk pounding the breath out of myself, falling and looking like a dweeb, I made sure that this was a one take program.
What the hell am I looking at?
Margo faithfully recorded this spectacle on the camera and took a picture with me and the girls when we were finished. Another successful visit and another satisfied Hooter’s customer.