By the way, this is where I wound up Saturday night with four other couples that I work with.  This was only my second time dining at Hooters.  It was Mike's first.  I gave him permission to look at other girls' racks for the night.  But thankfully he wasn't interested since half of the girls that waitressed there were the same age as his students.

I don't understand why men justify going to Hooters by exclaiming how much they love their wings.   Since I'm a vegetarian, I couldn't taste any.  They smelled good though...really good, actually.  But anything slobbered in buffalo sauce smells good to me.  So men, listen up.  Just tell the truth.  You like hooters because of the hooters.  You like going there and having young girls serve you in their tight  orange shorts and low cut, here are my breasts, tank tops.  You like the way they smile at you, cater to you, and bend over for you for extra tips.  I would respect a man's choice to go to Hooters so much more if he just came clean about it instead of saying, "I go there for the wings!"  "I go there for their breasts!" is much more believable.