Because I'm a hopeless romantic

I've been debating the past couple of hours as to whether or not I wanted to publish this post. The more I think about it the more I realize that not all the men out their romanticize their women like I do and let's face it folks some of the men are gonna get jealous and some of the women are gonna wonder why their husbands aren't as thoughtful as I am.

See back when the Missus and I first started dating, when she wasn't the Missus and was the girlfriend, I never really had to worry too much about Valentine's Day. Her room-mate and best friend was born on the 14th of February and thus we celebrated her birthday instead, only exchanging cards and perhaps a small, albeit thoughtful, gift. All was well and good while the missus was the girlfriend and for the first three years she was the Missus because we'd inevitably end up celebrating her best friends birthday.

Of course all good things must come to an end and our forth Valentine's Day as a married couple rolled around and the missus' best friend was out of state working. As luck would have it Valentine's Day also fell on a Saturday that year. After we drug out of bed and scrounged around the kitchen to find something to eat we proceeded to exchange cards and gifts. Me being the hopeless romantic I'm pretty sure her card came from the "humorous" section in the local Eckerd's or CVS Drug Store, because, you know, that's the kind of thoughful loving guy I am.

We had decided in advance that we'd head out for an early dinner around 3 or 4 O’clock in the afternoon to beat the crowds that would surely be forming. As we rolled down restaurant row we noticed several restaurants were already packed, with lines forming outside. No problem we headed to a couple of restaurants out of the way, damn lines their too. Of course as we were riding I'd noticed the local Hooter's, delightfully tacky yet unrefined, only had two or three cars in the parking lot.

After checking a couple other alternatives and finding anywhere between a two and three hour wait I jokingly remarked that we could always head to Hooter's. Much to my surprise the Missus said okay; at this point she didn't give a damn and just wanted something to eat. As we head we notice several other couples, the guys all pounding beer and catching hell for not making reservations. Notably the Missus didn't say anything about my lack of planning, I was of course waiting for the shoe to drop, it never did, it didn't get the chance.

Over the next twenty minutes or so several more couples made their way in. I'd downed a beer, figuring my verbal lashing would be much more tolerable with a buzz, ordering another round and appetizers I noticed the waitresses, aka Hooters Girls, pulling bar-stools to the edges of the booths occupied by couples as they took the drink orders. By the time the Hooters Girls had finished arranging the chairs I'd downed another beer and was waiting for another round to arrive when the tables were swarmed, a better plan of attack couldn't have been laid out by old Rummy himself. The Hooters Girls swarmed the occupied booths from all sides ensuring none of the unsuspecting men victims could escape. We were trapped like rats and mesmerized like a Opossum in headlights just waiting to be killed dead, or worse.

It seems our local Hooters Girls who'd been drafted to work on Valentine's Day had hatched an evil plan to get even with those of us dumb enough to bring in a date. Their plan was brilliant, pure genius, and yet so simple like the jitterbug it plum evaded me. The head hooterette stepped forward and explained their plan: We, the men, were to serenade our dates, not only serenade them, but to stand upon the barstools they'd arranged beside our barstools, not just any old serenade either, no sir. We was gonna sing, You Are My Sunshine, to the lovely ladies, who, evidently, are the light of our lives.

Now not everybody was familiar with the lyrics, okay I was scrambling for any excuse possible, so the Hooters Girls lead us through the song and motions the first time. The next go round it was men only, if we even deserved to be called men anymore, singing. So there I was, all 6'3" of me standing on a barstool belting out You Are My Sunshine complete with the gestures learned in kindergarten, 'twas a sight to behold no doubt about it.

Graceful and heart wrenching aren't descriptors that would be used to describe my performance; comical however would be a perfect fit. The missus of course asked me to repeat the last half of the song, seems she missed it due to the hysterical fit of laughter she erupted into. After the performance we ate, consumed a couple more adult beverages and went on our happy way. The missus of course called everybody we know, and a several people we don't, to let them know about my performance. I of course didn't care 'cause I got to call all my buddies, who were still waiting in line to eat and let them know I'd eaten at Hooters on Valentine's Day.

For the record, the food was decent, the beer was cold and the Hooters Girls looking nothing like any of the chicks in the preceding links.

Not quite sure how I'm gonna top it this year, heck I probably won't even attempt to do any better, of course I am drinking for three now so things could get interesting.