Hooterific

Hubbs calls me yesterday afternoon to inform me he's partaking in a visit to Hooters Restaurant for his first time, with a co-worker... I giggle.
He's being devirginized... Even I've been to a Hooters.
I laugh and say he can look at other gals' "num nums" (inside joke I MAY let you in on at a later date). He agrees and I can tell his anticipation at forging thru a new frontier is rising with every moment.
I also remind him that if he touches said num nums, he's going to be promptly kicked out. I meant restaurant, he immediately thought home. *Whip crack* ya? I further explain that the Hooters gals are more protected than strippers from men's groping hands and they tolerate zippo harassment. "Oh, gotcha."
A couple hours trickle by.
I forget about Hooters.
He calls me to let me in on his escapade.
He's baffled that they let small num-num women work there. Apparently, in his mind, only D's and above pass. I immediately defend said small num-num waitress. "She HAS to have great people skills hun, and it's not ALWAYS about the tatas."
"Well, the food was okay."
"Thats good dear."
"The tatas were even better, but I wasn't that interested in it...*cricket, cricket*... but I don't think I'll go back there because of it."
I bark with laughter, almost peeing my pants. It's like saying you buy a Playboy to just read the articles... yeah, right.
"Oh, so you're not going back because the boobies didn't live up to expectation??"
"No, no, no!!! I'm not going back because the food was mediocre... and it's not my kinda restaurant."
Uh huh. Okay dear.