It reminded me I f my own faithful trip to hooters with a friend and his father.
I don’t think I know what was going on there, but I did feel like it was super awkward because they were talking about the waitress like she wasn’t there.
I mostly remember the wings we had were not very good.
Wings should not be battered with cornmeal. Though I don’t eat that much meat anymore.
There was a heartwarming essay in the NYT awhile back called “Why Dads Take Their Gay Sons to Hooters” by Peter Rothpletz.
That was brilliant. I thoroughly enjoyed that.
It reminded me I f my own faithful trip to hooters with a friend and his father.
I don’t think I know what was going on there, but I did feel like it was super awkward because they were talking about the waitress like she wasn’t there.
I mostly remember the wings we had were not very good.
Wings should not be battered with cornmeal. Though I don’t eat that much meat anymore.
Cornmeal is for seafood and okra. I am fully willing and committed to dying on this hill.
I never had the hooters experience, I had more of a “self-imposed secret conversation therapy” and being bi certainly helped to pass.
Lifelong identity issues and anxiety are worth it to avoid the travesty of cornmeal on chicken imo.