The very concept of this post is almost funny enough to keep me from writing much more than a title for it. But, for the sake of drawing things out, let me tell you about Saturday’s trip to Hooters.
Up until recently, Halifax was a Hooters-free zone. When they announced they were coming and where they were going, there was a huge uproar about preserving the quality of the street. A street that features a) our only strip club, b) a sex accessories shop of the requires disinfectant variety, and c) a porn rental store. Please, PLEASE save our street from the scourge of Hooters!
Gimme a break.
Since they’ve arrived, they’ve caused car accidents by doing jumping jack warm-ups outside on the sidewalk running along a busy five-lane road, they’ve offended breast cancer survivors by doing the same warm-up at fundraisers for the cure, and they’ve all lined up so that I could make sure none of them had camel toes.
S.E.R.I.O.U.S.L.Y.
I was mid-chew.
Since it’s a four minute drive from our house, we scooped up two of our friends who were up for a laugh and made our way to Breastville. Our waitress offended us from the very first thing she (she offered the lady of our group a job…) said but yet regained our confidence when she seemed willing to put up with the heap of derision that we sent back her way. Plus she ended up thinking we were from head office since one of our party had a Hooters VIP card.
That’s about when she started rubbing her left boob against my elbow whenever she came to check in on us.
She thought the newf was a virgin because he couldn’t stop laughing presumably because he has never seen breasts before – according to our server, anyway – when in fact he was laughing because almost every single girl in there has probably at one point been at least partially male.
But we drank our pitchers of beer and liked it. The non-vegetarians ate their 18 grams of fat/wing chicken wings and reveled in the mammary jokes. And by god, I smiled every time she grazed her silicone-infused breasts across my oh-so-turn-onable elbow.
But most of all, we smiled because we knew that we would never, EVER be back.
{ 19 comments… read them below or add one }
Just to further validate your theory, last weekend in Vegas proved to be full of boobs for Schmodie! I don't think he was very amused.
Not gonna lie, this post was slightly disturbing in a creepy way. Maybe you read too much porn. Go back to just watching it like the rest of us. =P
JustAGirl: I'm in.
Lemmonex: It's on a case-by-case basis.
Kyla: Same thing.
Angry: Merci.
Kate: ….your guess is as good as mine?
Christy: I would love that. Make it so!
Katie: Well done.
Cheryl: Five dollar hooker. Lattés are FIVE dollars.
Freckledk: Congrats! Rest assured that at least one of those gays has claimed to be a doctor in order to get laid. That's just like a real one.
Kristen: It's a good word, right?
Mel: There's a spectrum.
Laurie: Hm. That's a problem.
Andrea: Oh yeah. That was a big deal, wasn't it?
MsSalti: Do you have to pay him or does he just accept martinis?
Schm0die: hahahaha
Heather: Hm. I wouldn't rule it out!
Tia: Sigh. Those were better days.
i literally HATE geography right now.
HATE IT.
i haven't been felt up by you in MONTHS and i'm UPSET by it.
We need to make this whole gay men support and encourage sex in a relationship thing clear to all the straight guys of the world. My husband has NEVER been thoroughly convinced that any of my gay guy friends were ACTUALLY gay. He is convinced they use homosexuality as a tool to get closer to women. I know. He's confused. Perhaps if he thought they were advocating for him, he might be convinced?
I know what u mean! Straight women love it! I am the gay BFF of Ms. Salti! Some action is better then no action! lol! I might add that she has some fabulous bras that fit me!
Hehe, all I can think of when I read this was Isaac Mizrahi feeling up Scarlett Johansson at the Golden Globes.
I was in Key West last week and think I was taken advantage of….
I really don't think some of the guys there were gay, either….
A gay man complimenting a girls tits? The best compliment a gal could EVER receive! (Or at least a compliment about my nail polish, shoes, etc…)
I don't use the word “trollop” nearly enough.
This is so timely. I work in a gay bar, and last week received the equivalent of a full breast exam – the left and the right.
My prognosis was good.
Buy me a gingerbread latte, and I'll let you touch my boobs. Without a bra.
I just realized that made me sound like a two dollar hooker….
Oh well.
I like gingerbread lattes.
I frequent the Philadelphia Gayborhood with friends of mine. I now fully understand the extended syllable in 'faaaaaantastic' or 'faaaabulous'.
I'm flashing my bra strap in thanks to you.
I need a you in my life. Pronto. And not just for the boob grabbage and someone to share Starbucks with.
Why am I suddenly so sad that Gay Boyfriend threatens to poke his eyeballs out with ice picks whenever he sees my boobage. Hrmph.
Total, sheer brilliance.
I measure all social transactions on the gingerbread latte scale too. I think it just means that we end up happier than most people. And more caffeinated.
So how many buttons can I undo without looking like a trollop?
I'll let you touch the boy's junk if you want. It's fairly impressive, as penises go. I'm nice that way.