Why do you go to Hooters?

Our neighborhood dance team had a recital a few weeks ago and I was in charge of the boys who came to volunteer. I had about 6 or 7 middle school boys. We had a blast. The boys are a lot of fun to work with — they may be knuckleheads sometimes, but in general, they’re pretty drama free.

Anyhow, after the recital, I loaded the boys up in the church van to take them home. On the way to drop one of the boys off, we passed a Hooters. What followed cracked me up!

MS Boy #1: HOOTERS!!!!!!
MS Boy #2: Oh, Miss Dayna! We want to go to Hooters!! (all the boys joined in at this point)
Me: You have got to be kidding me! There’s no WAY I’m going to take you to Hooters. Y’all must be crazy!
MS Boy #1: CHICKEN WINGS!!!
Me: Really?! Now I KNOW you don’t want to go for the wings!
MS Boy #3 (the youngest one in the van): No, we want to go for the chicken BREAST!
Me: Wow…that was a good one, but I’m still not takin’ ya!

It’s terrible, I know, but oh so witty! They had me rolling!