Monday, June 1, 2009

Maximum Lifetime Awkwardness Reached.

Any awkwardness henceforth is in excess.

Today, for lunch.... I went to Hooter's with my dad and my uncle. Even if you don't know me, or my dad, or my uncle, I'm sure we can all agree that that's pretty awkward. If you've read the blog post here (or scroll down the page to "My dad, the Creeposaurus"), you will have some understanding of why this is particularly awkward... then mix in the fact that I am a big proponent of modesty (I don't ever want to see any woman in clothes that small unless she is my wife, and we are alone), and throw in my uncle (who is another set of stories, and a couple hundred gallons of creepy all on his own) and you will understand that this was a big pot of awkward soup waiting to boil over.

First off... why the hell have I been to Hooter's twice? And why has it been with family both times?.... and why did we go there today for lunch? This is all beside the point.

We got seated at the table nearest the aisle that the waitresses take to get to just about every other table in the place, and my dad and uncle (in my head, I call them Creep 1 and Creep 2)take the seats facing the door, perhaps so that none of their many enemies can sneak up on them. This gives them a nearly unobstructed view of all of the waitresses. I took the other side, which gave me an unobstructed view of women's college baseball on all of the tv's. I don't care about sports... but it was still better than looking at the waitresses, or being fully present in the moment. Fortunately, our waitress did not sit down next to me, touch me, or shove her boobs in my face while we were ordering, like the last time I went to Hooter's.

Creep 1 and Creep 2 carried on a conversation, I think... which is the only reason I'm glad my uncle was there. Had he not been, I would have been forced to pretend I was listening... but the whole time, even out of the corner of my eyes (which were fixed to the tv screens so fully that I occasionally had to grope around my plate to find a french fry to stuff in my face so that joining the conversation would not be an option) I could see them pretending they weren't trying to stare through cotton and polyester.

To help paint the picture in your head (so that I'm not alone here)... if you know my sisters dogs, and have been to our house... you will know what their little faces look like, pressed up against the glass of the Florida room door, their little eyes darting about watching all of the things that are going on in the family room/dining room/kitchen... wishing terribly that they could be inside, and be part of the action, and that someone would let them in and give them attention... but as soon as anyone looks at them, they duck down or scamper away, pretending that they weren't looking in the first place. This is exactly what my dad and uncle looked like sitting across the table from me... except my sisters dogs are way cuter, and Delilah's hair really is as yellow as she pretends it is.

Still, as awkward as this was (and really, you have to know all three of us to fully fathom the depths of this awkwardness), I suppose I can be glad that my dad decided that, for once, he was not going to hit on girls for me.

Yeah. He does that.

1 comment:

  1. Better he hit on them for you than for himself