Haunted by the Owl

I knew that it was just a matter of time before “it” resurfaced: that lunch that Martin took the kids to while I was away on business last fall.

Back then, I’d hoped it would be the first and last time I heard about Hooters — you know, that restaurant (and I use that word loosely), self proclaimed as “delightfully tacky, yet unrefined”… known for its buffalo wings. But better known for its well-endowed, polyester & tank-top clad waitstaff.

I’d hope I wouldn’t hear about Hooters again. But darn-it if that owl hasn’t come back to roost again.

This morning, while ferrying the kids to daycare, I was thinking aloud about the kids’ straggly hair and Hadley’s shoes — which are so tight, her toes threaten to rupture the seams.

“On Friday,” I announced to the backseat dwellers, “we’re going to get your hair cut and get you two some new shoes.”

Thing 1 and Thing 2 were quiet for a moment. Then I heard the twitter of whispers before Cayden piped up.

“And after you’ll take us to Hooters?” he asked.

What?” I jerked the wheel with a start.

“Hooters, Mom. We like it.”

“What is it that you like?” I asked.

“We like the french fries. And the owl with the donut eyes.”

Sensing my reticence, Cayden dished out his best pitch: “Really Mom, if you like places with wood and lots of football TVs, then Hooters is the place for you.”

Okay, so the kid is pushing a restaurant chain built on boobs, because he likes the interior and the Hootie-the-owl mascot. And the french fries.

I’m still not taking them to Hooters…..

And Martin, if you’re reading this, stop brainwashing that kid!