12 August 2010

hoot hoot

I was just on frontage road in Jackson.

With all three of the progeny in the backseat.

And we passed our local hooters (which is on the corner of frontage road and one of the main roads leading into and out of our part of town).

And here is the short play that developed:

Ada: Hooters. Huh. What's that?
Me: A restaurant.
Ada: We've never been. Can we go today? We still haven't had lunch.
Me: Not eating out, and we don't eat there anyway.
Ada: Why not?
Me: Well, because they have a bunch women in there with their bosoms hanging out.
Ada: Sounds tacky.
Me: Yes, and frankly, wrong.
Ada: Sounds immodest.
Eason: Sounds funny.
Me: It is immodest, and additionally, it treats women as objects. But it is not funny.
Eason: Yes, it is too funny, Mama. Bosoms don't hang. Everybody knows that. At least not the good ones. Yours don't, so that's good.

And I regret so, so much.

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