![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH9Nuo5cMMe4X1g8Qzw2BczKNj8GWRfDaGew5toxeVAHKKenep46axyxQU_p85JTlIcA5U84UHall-O9q7ND5VS5G3E8u0oZWMDR-QMHloBRylkbXWS1JIB_GU02KkpcV96sAqxnofyJt3/s320/lLxg6g.jpg)
I refuse to eat at Hooter’s anymore. Apparently, they have this un-written policy that if you are there with your parents or your wife that you aren’t worth getting the signature over-the-top service. I suppose that they feel awkward flirting with you for tips in front of your wife, but still! Why else would I go to Hooter’s? The food?
It got so bad that the last time I went with my wife, I actually got a male waiter! A man? Are you kidding me? What’s worse is that he was wearing the belly-showing shirt and bottom-of-your-butt-cheeks-hanging-out shorts!
I’m sorry, but that’s the last straw!