So...Funny Story....
Yesterday afternoon, when most respectable people were in church, Stacy and I found ourselves in quite a different place of worship: HOOTERS. (That's right, Hooters.)
While the food is quite good (mmmm...wings), Hooters is not exactly an establishment my girlfriends and I frequent. But since our Halloween Costume Party Extraordinaire is quickly approaching, Stacy decided she needed a pair of industrial-strength Hooters tights to complement her highway patrol "uniform".
The website said we could purchase them at every restaurant, so we packed up and headed to the nearest one. Now, I'm definitely not a Hooters connoisseur...but I have a feeling that this particular establishment is sub-standard. For several reasons (including, but not limited to the existence of a waitress twice my size. No lie.)
After being escorted to our table by a busty Butter Face, we scanned the restaurant for a t-shirt stand. But there wasn't one. So I made a visit to the ladies room just to make sure they didn't distribute them out of a machine a la French Ticklers and off-brand cologne. But nada.
Determined we wouldn't leave the restaurant empty-handed, I asked our waitress where she purchased her tights since she obviously couldn't buy them in-house. She grudgingly admitted that they bought their tights (and tube socks!) at the Mexican market down the street. So we paid our bill and headed out.
As soon as we entered the doors of the Super Mercado Latino, it felt like we'd been transported to another country. Everything was brightly colored, cantina music was blaring and hordes of small, dark-headed children were running amok--it couldn't have felt more authentic if live chickens had been clucking underfoot.
We browsed for awhile before finally asking an employee where they kept the tights. He got a gleam in his eye and exclaimed, "Ah! Hooters girls?!" Deciding it'd be less complicated to just go with it, we nodded. Sure, Pedro...whatever you want to think...
Stacy paid for her 1950s-boxed tights and we managed to make it to the car before erupting in laughter at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Then Stacy opened the tights...only to discover they had no feet. Just a terrible banded ankle. Which sent us even further into hysterics.
We left as soon as I regained enough breath to drive...but didn't get far before discovering the surprising and fantastic mural painted on the backside of the building. It pretty much summed up our entire tights-hunting experience, so I had to have my picture taken with it:
We then managed to make about 40 more feet before losing it again. The reason? This sign:
All told, there really are just three appropriate words to adequately sum up our day: Ay yi yi.
While the food is quite good (mmmm...wings), Hooters is not exactly an establishment my girlfriends and I frequent. But since our Halloween Costume Party Extraordinaire is quickly approaching, Stacy decided she needed a pair of industrial-strength Hooters tights to complement her highway patrol "uniform".
The website said we could purchase them at every restaurant, so we packed up and headed to the nearest one. Now, I'm definitely not a Hooters connoisseur...but I have a feeling that this particular establishment is sub-standard. For several reasons (including, but not limited to the existence of a waitress twice my size. No lie.)
After being escorted to our table by a busty Butter Face, we scanned the restaurant for a t-shirt stand. But there wasn't one. So I made a visit to the ladies room just to make sure they didn't distribute them out of a machine a la French Ticklers and off-brand cologne. But nada.
Determined we wouldn't leave the restaurant empty-handed, I asked our waitress where she purchased her tights since she obviously couldn't buy them in-house. She grudgingly admitted that they bought their tights (and tube socks!) at the Mexican market down the street. So we paid our bill and headed out.
NO TIGHTS
TIGHTS (???)
As soon as we entered the doors of the Super Mercado Latino, it felt like we'd been transported to another country. Everything was brightly colored, cantina music was blaring and hordes of small, dark-headed children were running amok--it couldn't have felt more authentic if live chickens had been clucking underfoot.We browsed for awhile before finally asking an employee where they kept the tights. He got a gleam in his eye and exclaimed, "Ah! Hooters girls?!" Deciding it'd be less complicated to just go with it, we nodded. Sure, Pedro...whatever you want to think...
Stacy paid for her 1950s-boxed tights and we managed to make it to the car before erupting in laughter at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Then Stacy opened the tights...only to discover they had no feet. Just a terrible banded ankle. Which sent us even further into hysterics.
We left as soon as I regained enough breath to drive...but didn't get far before discovering the surprising and fantastic mural painted on the backside of the building. It pretty much summed up our entire tights-hunting experience, so I had to have my picture taken with it:
We then managed to make about 40 more feet before losing it again. The reason? This sign:
All told, there really are just three appropriate words to adequately sum up our day: Ay yi yi.
posted by Rachel at 3:30 PM
1 Comments:
Animal birth control unit???? surely they just separate the bulls from the cows? Or is that too simple...? mad.
and loving the tights... sexy...
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