A friend of mine is judging a Hooters “bikini contest” next week in Augusta. (Oh, Masters week, how I love the traffic and scantily clad waitresses you bring to this city for a week. I mean that, sincerely. It’s all part of the fun.) Upon learning the news, a question immediately popped into my head. If their regular waitress outfits look like bikinis, what must their bikinis look like? I’d be willing to bet that they cover up about as much as dental floss does. I’ve begged her to send photos, and to vote for the one who is working at Hooters to pay for law school.
Speaking of judging, I judged a pageant in my hometown last night. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea at first, since there was the potential that I might know a few of the kid’s moms…but my own mom assured me that it would be fine, so I said yes. When we arrived at the school’s auditorium, I told my mom that they had saved her a seat near where I was judging. Her response? “Oh, no, I don’t want to be seen with you in case people get upset with your winners.” Gee thanks, mom. That’s sort of like taking me to the ocean, throwing blood on me, pushing me in and saying, “Good luck!”
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