I have a confession to make …
The fiction I post on Thursday, called “Thursday Thread?” Those stories aren’t always fiction. *blush* Sometimes, they are fictionalized accounts of true life events – a little creative nonfiction, if you will.
The thing is, I can’t really talk about some things that happen to me in real life on this blog. I have family, friends, and even some clients (!) who read my blog so I have to censor myself on what, and how, I document my life. On one hand, I’m okay with this, I probably need to be censored (I can get pretty carried away sometimes), on the other hand, it can be stifling. So … I will occasionally write a “story” about that event and post it for Thursday Thread.
The trick is to decide if it’s reality based. The majority of time, I won’t tell you, but in this case? I will confess; this past Thursday Thread? Really happened.
In order for this to make sense, you sort of need to read “Haircut Hotties.” When you’re done, come back for the explanation … go ahead, I’ll wait. I need another cup of coffee anyway …
Ready? Excellent, let’s proceed…
I really did take the boys to get their haircut this past week. And we really did go to a “Hooters for Hair” type of establishment – it’s actually called “Too Hotties” and it’s, in essence, a barber shop with estrogen.
Look, I personally do not have a problem with Hooters, the restaurant, not the boobs, though I don’t have a problem with boobs either. Where was I … I mean, to me, if attractive women with big hooters want to walk around in tight t-shirts serving beer to oogling men who are only there to feed their dirty imaginations, then hey, whatever.
If you’ve ever eaten at Hooters, you know that boobs are the ONLY good thing on the menu (I can’t stand their food).
But apparently, I’m in the minority. When Hooters first came to Springfield, our bible-belt population dug out their pitchforks and polished up their superior attitudes and tried to keep the “boob” restaurant out of our town. They failed. I’m sure a lot of men heaved a sigh of grateful relief.
The women? Let’s just say, they were CRANKY about the whole thing.
But again, whatever. The one time I went there (out of curiosity, not to oogle strange women’s breasts … okay, maybe a little), and ate lunch with my husband, I was more embarrassed FOR the girls than anything else. I mean, talk about being on display! Being forced (though that’s debatable, isn’t it) to wear skin tight t-shirts and Daisy Mae short-shorts … how DEMEANING! And I hated their food, but I’ve already mentioned that part.
Again, I had no problem with the concept. They’re boobs. Big deal. To me, one set looks like the next. I wasn’t about to get on my holy horse because the way I see it? These girls have a choice whether they want to work there or not – they choose to, thereby, prepare to be oogled. The men? Choose to go and oogle. If you don’t like it, don’t go.
If you have a problem with your men going, well, that issue goes beyond the scope of this post or what I’m willing to delve into. But for me? I don’t have a problem with my husband going to Hooters. In fact, he’s often teased that when the boys get older (which would be NOW, actually), he was going to take them to lunch at Hooters.
Eh, whatever floats your boat, man. I mean, they’re guys, they’re PROGRAMMED to oogle – it’s just who they are. I’m a woman, I’m PROGRAMMED to buy dozens of shoes – it’s who I am, it’s what I DO. *wink*
In fact, my husband went to a strip club with a buddy years ago. He wasn’t sure how I would react and when he told me what they were planning to do, I simply shrugged and said, “Just don’t bring home anything contagious.”
I think he was disappointed with my reaction. But really, big deal? So he wants to go see some naked girls – great. You can look, just don’t touch.
I’ve gone to a Chippendale’s, erhm, thing several times with some gals I used to work with. Sure the guys were HAWT. But they weren’t who I went home to – OR the man who reaped the benefits afterward, either. *winkwink*
So, when the boys and I showed up at Too Hotties and I saw that it was set up like a Hooters restaurant for Hair, I cringed, but I didn’t exactly get upset. I mean, they’re BOYS, in my mind, they’re SUPPOSED to like being surrounded by attractive, half-dressed girls bearing sharp objects.
Erhm, maybe not the sharp objects part. On second thought, let’s not go down that road.
I was indeed the only female customer in the joint. We walked into a shop decorated entirely in black and red. (Sin colors perhaps? Hmm). The girls were indeed sporting short red mini-skirts with a cute little ruffle at the hem, and wearing layered black on red spaghetti strap clingy tunics and they were all attractive. The place was completely geared toward the male gender. They had comfy red leather massage chairs that faced a big-screen TV (tuned to a sports’ channel, of course). A pool table. Shoe shine chairs. Massage rooms. Tanning rooms. They even had a bar (which if you watch on the commercial on the website, you’ll see a father and son eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at – ahhh, such a Norman Rockwell moment, *snicker*).
GD was sort of freaked out when we first got there. He’s 15 after all and PAINFULLY self-conscious so when we first drove up and he realized what sort of “barber” shop this was, he sort of freaked out. “Oh great!” he says. “I’m going to have some babe cutting my hair!”
I really had to work at suppressing my laughter.
But his horror soon melted away and though the boys were pretty uncomfortable at first, they walked away from the experience feeling pretty “okay” about going someplace just for guys. Though the girls were eye candy, the concept behind the mini-skirts was pretty spot on. Guys DO need someplace to go where they can feel, well, like guys. This wasn’t a prissy place packed with gossiping (and judgmental) women, it was a guys’ hangout where they could sit spread eagle if they chose to and just BE themselves.
I say, cool.
There was only one thing about the whole experience that made my eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
On the glass door into the establishment (just like in the story) was a red sign with white lettering, “Please tip the girls.”
Now, I realize that there are a lot of people out there that don’t tip on a regular basis and to this I say, “shame on you.” These stylists spend a lot of time washing your hair, coloring it, trimming it all so that you can leave the salon feeling confident and beautiful. They don’t get paid very much to begin with and they DESERVE to be tipped for bestowing all of that attention on you.
So I “get” that there are a lot of people out there that don’t tip and should.
When we were leaving the place, on the back of that same sign was another message, “If you did not leave a tip, then do not come back.”
ZOING!? For real??
I was so shocked at the blatant HONESTY, that I actually tripped on the way out.
Now granted, I tipped both girls, I always tip our stylists, but geez, to be that forthright about something that is sort of an unspoken rule just felt … weird. At first, I was offended. But the more I thought about it, the more I could understand the salon’s position. All I can say is, they must REALLY have had a problem with people not tipping in the past for them to feel it was necessary to post that rather brusque message.
The final verdict? The boys liked it and we’ll likely go back. And I must admit, the girls really did a nice job on their hair. They’re happy, I’m happy and I say …
YAY FOR HAIRCUT HOTTIES!