I’ve been remiss in posting this little story, but I have to share it.
I took my son to Hooters for the first time a few days ago. For those of you who don’t know, he’s two years old. We were there with my friend John, who is an expectant father (that phrase has always put an absolutely silly image in my head).
Anyway, were sitting at the table waiting on our scantily clad server talking about fatherhood and trying to keep Ian from eating the napkins. In hindsight, I noticed early on that he was watching one particular blonde, well-endowed server every time she passed by our table. She was not our server, but every time she passed by our table he would stare at her and yell “HI!!” as she walked by.
When our server finally got to the table to take our order, she stood between my son and my friend. I watched what happened next in slow motion out of the corner of my eye; not really believing that I was seeing what I was seeing. She was wearing her nametag in a rather conspicuous location that made it nearly impossible to see her name. The nametags are bright orange. Here’s what I saw in slow motion:
My son’s hand reached slowly out for her nametag. She didn’t see it coming because she was focusing on John who’s eyes were on the menu. I, too, was looking at the menu, but as fatherhood dictates, I kept the menu low enough to allow a peripheral view of my son. He grabbed her nametag and held it with a death grip. As she pulled away, this caused her shirt (which was already under a considerable amount of stress and strain) to pull away from her body. When she put her hand up to stop the impending revelation, he tried to grab on to her arm to climb into her arms. Thankfully, he was strapped into his high chair because he would have been in her arms. When my son wants something, he will fight tooth and nail to get it.
He didn’t get what he wanted, but he got a show out of the attempt. Now, let me say that she was well covered underneath the shirt, but her shirt was pulled far enough away to see pretty much anything that anyone wanted to see.
We all three jumped into getting my son’s arm under control and weren’t dealing with the other issue of the exposure. When the nametag finally slipped from the deathgrip my son had on it, her shirt slipped back into place with only some minor adjustment needed to get it back into place. There was an awkward moment where we were all not sure what to do next.
Luckily, all three of us laughed at pretty much the same time. The rest of the meal went off pretty much without a hitch, but my son looked like this for the rest of the time.
I gave her a very good tip…