Boobs and Nachos

All nachos come with a side of boobs. Or side boob. Either way, you’re getting boobs.

I went to a Mexican Hooters last night. 

Okay, it wasn’t really a Hooters but they did serve Mexican food and I wanted to cover the servers up with a bathrobe, so I guess the name fits. We went on a double date with Perfect Michelle and Sassy Ray. The restaurant we originally went to was full, so Mexican Hooters was suggested as an alternative based on the fact that’s it’s a sports cantina and there are screens everywhere and Sassy Ray is into March Madness and they have alcohol and good food. 

We sat down and our server came over. She was a darling young woman with a bright smile, big boobs, and difficulty getting from point a to point b. 

I knew we were in trouble when Perfect Michelle made her drink order: 

“I’ll take a shot of silver house tequila, on the rocks, with club soda and lime.”

“Umm, club soda? I don’t know if we have that.” 

Now, there’s a big huge Mexican Hooter bar right in the middle of the restaurant with bartenders cranking out drinks left and right. Even the menu features cocktails listing club soda as an ingredient. 

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” says Perfect Michelle with an encouraging smile.

“Umm. I”ll go check for you.”

5 minutes later.

“You’re in luck-we have club soda!”

“That’s great!” says Perfect Michelle. 

10 minutes later.

“Here you go!”

The darling server with a bright smile and big boobs places a glass in front of Perfect Michelle. It contains one shot of tequila. GOLD tequila. And nothing else.

“I’m sorry,” says Perfect Michelle, “but this isn’t what I ordered. I wanted a shot of silver house tequila, on the rocks with club soda and lime.”

“Ohhhhhh, okay. Let me take it back.”

5 minutes later.

“I just spoke to my manager and our house tequila is gold, so….”. 

Now, I know PM is thinking “Then just bring me the cheapest silver tequila you have,” but Perfect Michelle is too kind to get into all that so she says instead, “You know what, don’t worry about it…I’ll just go up to the bar and order it there. Thank you, though.”

1 minute later PM is back with her drink. Super easy. 

And as I sat there, looking at these beautiful women prancing about the restaurant, I had some thoughts: 

I thought about how some people say that those itty bitty outfits turn women into “serving sex objects,” thus knocking feminism on its butt, half of which is already out thanks to the uniform. 

And then I thought about how some people say those itty bitty outfits are the epitome of feminism, as a woman shouldn’t be defined by the clothing she wears. She should be taken seriously regardless. 

And as these thoughts argued for headspace in my brain, I realized that a woman in skimpy clothes serving nachos only 50% bothers me. I mean, I still want to pull the Mom-Card and wrap her up in a blanket and make her some hot chocolate and give her a serious talking to, but she is an adult who is capable of making her own decisions and if she decides, for whatever reason, to wear in a restaurant less than what I wear UNDER my clothes, then God bless. 

But what DOES bother me though, is the inability to get a simple drink order correct. 

Not sure if we serve club soda?

Makes me want to wrap her in a blanket AND homeschool her. 

Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply