Stop the presses and hold the phone -- men are going to start working at Hooters.
Now, frankly, I've never been too fond of this stupid restaurant, but not for the reasons that everyone assumes: 'Oh, she's a feminist, one a' those damn ugly, fat bra-burners who hates men, she's jealous a' the babes at Hooters!'
Um, not quite. Let's be frank here. I look better than the girls that work at that place. I've never lacked for male attention, so frankly I've got nary a scrap of insecurity about my ability to get it. To be honest, it's usually a big ol' pain in the ass, because men won't get the hell out of my face when I want them to unless I wear grubbies. Jealous? Hardly. The last thing I want is more Neanderthals hitting on me.
But -- and this is going to be my refrain throughout this little missive, so get used to it -- what about mine? What about what I want to see? That's my major problem with Hooters -- that men can turn on any TV, go to any movie, drive a few miles to a 'family' (hah) restaurant, and see all the perky pert little titties they want, whereas women haven't got hardly that much selection. Pliant, adoring little femmes for us? Vegas taxicabs covered with pictures of 'Hot Boys Who Come Right To Your Room?' Private lingerie shows with pretty men for us?
Get real, babe.
And there's a bit of myth going out there that women 'just don't like that sort of thing,' mostly closely espoused by all the paunchy, balding, patently unattractive dorks who go to Hooters. I'm working on a theory that they can't handle thinking that they aren't terribly attractive to the very women that society has told them are their birthright. The concept that Women Look, Too scares the hell out of them because then they'll feel Rejected, poor babies, because they aren't exactly Brad Pitt, if you know what I mean.
So even when men might be put in display for us -- as was evidenced by the interviews done on various news shows -- the men who gawp and go huh-huh-huh at the women at Hooters actively attempt to stamp it out. The absence of attractive men on display has less to do, it seems, with the female sex drive, than it has to do with the male hatred and squelching of other males.
'No, I don't like the idea. No, no men. No men at all.'
What's the matter? Can't handle seeing your cute perky little waitress flirting with the buff, sexy waiter instead of you? Afraid that she's just faking flirting with you and your jowly, pimply, beer-drinking buddies in comparison?
Scared that maybe you might find yourself looking at the waiters' butts and thinking, 'Hey, he looks nice,' and then having to go suck a tailpipe because OH MY GOD I'M A FAGGOT?! A little afraid that your Heterosexual Macho Eyeballs might fall to a man's calves without the face-saving retch reaction that will prove your Straightness to your male buddies?
Can't stand the thought that maybe women like looking at primo male flesh too, and that maybe you aren't so primo? Frightened that we're just as sexual as you, and so when you go out fucking around throughout your youth, you can't come crawling to what you thought was a Pure, Virginal, Perfect Chaste Woman for absolution, because she's off flirting with the pretty waiter in the dolphin shorts?
Poor little baby, my heart bleeds for you.
Face it guys -- women like sex. Women -- at least straight and bisexual ones -- like men. Women dig looking at men.
You dig looking at women. No problem there. We all like looking at the gender of our object choice. But who the hell do you think you are preventing us from seeing what we want?
You all blame feminists for trying to censor and block pictures of pretty women for your drooling, grunting delectation, and here you all are trying to keep us from seeing what we want.
Censors. Victorians. Hypocrites.
Hmmm, that's right! It isn't a crime to look at flesh, is it? Now that I think about it, my distaste for Hooter's probably arises from the fact that I would get little enjoyment out of it. (Not that I don't look at women, mind you, but not ones dressed as male fantasy girls, thank you). If there were an equivalent joint in town featuring well-proportioned, sleek guys catering to my dining needs, I'd probably go there now and then when the whim struck me. What's the problem with that?
I have mixed feelings about Hooter's being required to hire guys. I can see both sides, and it's certainly a tricky issue. But anyone who objects to it because they think women shouldn't get to look loses my respect and gets a big scarlet H for Hypocrite.
Take that oriental restaurant on the north end of town. You pick your own veggies, meats, and sauce, and they grill it for you. And there's that tall skinny dark-haired waiter with the most incredible eyes; I'm almost sorry if I go there on a night when he's not working.
Or that little homey restaurant near my workplace. They grow their own vegetables in a garden behind the restaurant. Best gardenburger I've ever tasted, creative and unusual vegetable dishes, an absolutely luscious chocolate almond torte. The last time we were there, our waiter was a stunning young man with clear Asian ancestry. What a face -- mmmmm.
Ah, and that Italian chain restaurant downtown. They hire a lot of college students, and some of them are just stunning. I remember one guy with a reddish-blond ponytail and the trimmest butt. And they serve a great brownie sundae too.
And that steakhouse up north central; another chain, but the prime rib is good, and you surely won't leave hungry. The waiters wear shorts in summer, and does it ever add to my eating pleasure.
Alas, to my knowledge there is no restaurant in town where male waiters were really short shorts, or open-sided shirts, or a bow tie and no shirt at all. I can't watch a lean, smoothly muscled man in open vest and silky trousers performing an incredible dance as I eat a delectable meal (or even a hamburger and fries), unless I stay at home and invite over my friend who does Sufi dancing.
In the meantime, I have no reason to give Hooters my dollars.
All Replies to the News
02/08/07 at 21:48