I Heart Hooters

It all began at Noah's first birthday. We had a party for the family and close friends, and when all of the packages were open and the cake pieces eaten, we decided to take my generation and downward out for a bite to eat. Somewhere comfortable, with beer.

"How about Hooters?" my husband asked.

Oh, what the hell. I had no idea what we were starting.

There's evidence of the moment, too. Somewhere during the evening, Noah began to show signs of exhaustion, but we weren't done yet, so my hubby schlepped the car seat in and put him in it on the table. And then someone tied a balloon to his foot. And then, bless 'em, scantily clad Hooters girls came over and posed for a photo. With one of them kissing his hand. And somehow, the photo was printed as an 8x10. And framed. And hung on the wall. At Hooters. Above what is now "our table." He's a celebrity.

Some more background: I'm a fencer. And on Thursday nights, I'm in a fencing class, and the boys go for "boy's night out." At Hooters. Oh joy.

So last night, despite the icky weather, we headed off for Hooters (the icky weather having cancelled my fencing class), and Noah was in fine form. Very enthusiastic. Very talkative. We got there. Our waitress, Victoria, came and greeted us. Noah started immediately.

"I want chicken nuggets and french fries. Chicken nuggests and french fries. I like chicken nuggets and french fries -- they are yummy for my tummy. Can I have chicken nuggets and french fries? Please?" Somehow over this, Hubby and I managed to order as well. Beer, anyhow.

Victoria brought Noah the placemat and crayons, and he began drawing, prattling away to himself while he drew. When Victoria came back with well-timed beers for the adults, Noah let loose with the first zinger of the night:

"I love you."

She laughed and said he was cute. They discussed the fact that his favorite animal is a cow. News to me! She went off to get our meals.

Meanwhile, Noah's making progress in his drawing. He points at the corner of the placemat. "Look, it says "Hooters!" My eyebrows go up. "What, honey?" "Hooters, Mommy -- it says Hooters!" Hubby moves a menu over near him. "Can you see the word Hooters on here, Noah?" Noah points to where it says Hooters on the menu. "Hooters!"

I'm holding my face, my blood running cold. "DO YOU MEAN..." I ask the universe in general, "THAT I'M GOING TO HAVE TO PUT IN HIS BABY BOOK THAT THE FIRST WORD HE COULD READ WAS HOOOTERS???" Hubby suggests I stop screaming.

Other than frequent professions of love to our waitress, dinner was generally loud but a success, and we finished up and headed for the car. At the door, Noah began doing the peepee dance, so I trotted him back in to the restroom before we got in the car.

A little girl about 7 and her mother entered and waited for us to come out of the stall. We passed shoulders at the stall door, exchanged polite greetings with the little girl. Noah walked up to the mother. "Hi! I love you!" I shook my head... "I love you too!" the mother said back. We looked at one another and laugh politely at the antics of 3-year-olds. Then Noah looked up at her very seriously. "My Daddy is a wanker!" he announced.

The mother stopped moving, and her eyes very slowly came up to meet mine. I stand crying with silent laughter. "I'm going to have to have a little talk with your father," I murmured to Noah.

And out of the stall, a 6-year-old voice: "Mommy? What's a wanker?"

Barely containing myself, I apologized for what we have wrought to the mother, and made a dash for the car that left a lightning-streak across the restaurant floor.