On a Leash

I thought that I would touch on something before I got my lazy butt up out of bed to draw my face on and become what I call "Hooters Ready." Every male (and sometimes female) that I talk to inevitably asks me two questions in the time that we speak. "Do you have a boyfriend and doesn't he mind that you work there?" So, for male, female, dog, cat, and alien alike- yes, yes I do and no, he doesn't mind at all. You see, I have chosen a male companion who does not feel the need to control every action, all the time. I also have chosen a male companion who understands that Hooters is not, in fact, a place full of prostitutes who serve beer and give lap dances every five minutes. Believe it or not, the Hooters Handbook is rather strict with a strict code of conduct. I am sure that somewhere between the description that a HG is the "All American Cheerleader, and the girl-next door" slides in the "streetwalker on the Murch." So, ladies, I advise you to take heed. A man who would be comfortable with anything except you "working there" is not a secure man. I think The Boyfriend actually, honestly takes it as a compliment that I work at Hooters. Yes, in order to be hired, you have to be attractive, that is a given. Yes, we wear short, shiny orange shorts, but we also wear pantyhose and top that covers more than what most high school girls wear to school. Hell, it covers more than a damn bikini. If you cannot go to the beach with your boyfriend, Houston, we have a problem.

As for my family, I think my mother would probably be more upset that I used the word "damn" a couple sentences ago than she is about the fact that I work at Hooters. I grew up in a liberal-republican family, but my mother just does not care. Now, she has forbid me from street-walking (how could you, mom!). However, when I told her I got a job at Hooters, she was mad at me for weeks!! Yeah, no. I can't even say that. I guess she does not feel any different from me. The Boyfriend does not keep me on a leash, and neither does my mother.