Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Too Wise
It's past Memorial Day and that means restaurant choices available with ready seating are quite limited. On occassion, one's hi-falutin' eating standards have to be sacrificed for immediate seating.
As I wait in line to get into a joint of quesionable kitchen operations, my mind clicks back to a few summers ago.
A neigbour of ours, blessed with two quick kids readily equipped with opinions of the human condition, was meandering up and down a local subarban route in search of short lines and kid-acceptable meals. Pickings were especially bad that day, certainly not helped by the multitude of race-fans doing their own alcohol-fueled meanderings homeward. Our neighbour is a kind, considerate, sensible and forward-thinking woman. She also knows what happens when two sub-teenagers are seat-belted in her car and are in the throes of deep hunger. Desperate times, indeed.
So, she swerved into the the only eating establishment in sight with a negligible waiting line.
Hooters.
Shame creeped up her neck and blew full blast into her face. "How's this look to you guys?"
Her daughter screamed in disbelief.
Her son, not yet cursed with roiling testosterone and still comfortable in his Star Wars skin, seemed to be mulling the meal offerings.
He finally opined,"O.K., Mom. But I'm not drinking any milk here!.".
So, family shorthand for any restaurant visited under hunger distress is noted with that 9 yr. old's restaurant review.
"O.K. But I'm not drinking any milk here!.".
As I wait in line to get into a joint of quesionable kitchen operations, my mind clicks back to a few summers ago.
A neigbour of ours, blessed with two quick kids readily equipped with opinions of the human condition, was meandering up and down a local subarban route in search of short lines and kid-acceptable meals. Pickings were especially bad that day, certainly not helped by the multitude of race-fans doing their own alcohol-fueled meanderings homeward. Our neighbour is a kind, considerate, sensible and forward-thinking woman. She also knows what happens when two sub-teenagers are seat-belted in her car and are in the throes of deep hunger. Desperate times, indeed.
So, she swerved into the the only eating establishment in sight with a negligible waiting line.
Hooters.
Shame creeped up her neck and blew full blast into her face. "How's this look to you guys?"
Her daughter screamed in disbelief.
Her son, not yet cursed with roiling testosterone and still comfortable in his Star Wars skin, seemed to be mulling the meal offerings.
He finally opined,"O.K., Mom. But I'm not drinking any milk here!.".
So, family shorthand for any restaurant visited under hunger distress is noted with that 9 yr. old's restaurant review.
"O.K. But I'm not drinking any milk here!.".
Comments:
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Oddly enough, I used to know the guy who was the manager of Hooters in Boston. Not that I ever went there, mind you.
# opined by 
: 8:04 PM, June 06, 2006
: 8:04 PM, June 06, 2006
Do they even serve milk there? This woman possesses a sort of subversive genius that is rare among mothers. As those boys slip into puberty, they probably won't experience the usual brain-stem "ooh, pretty bouncy other things!" response to the seedy allure of the strip club - most of which will throw you out if you ask for milk.
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<< Home Verging on Pertinence Just some more disposable thoughts clogging up the hinterlands
