She's Just There For The Wings

This summer, my Dad celebrated his 47th birthday. His tit fetish led him to Hooter's, a fine eatery indeed, with top notch service and heaping helpings of the finest pieces of ass the region has to offer. Any self-respecting man of his age would have done the same, so he rounded up a buddy and they made the 15 minute journey to the promised land.

Dad and Buddy walked in, and they noticed a table in the back surrounded by activity. He heard a familiar cackle, and immediately froze.

MA?

There sat my 72 year old grandmother and her friend Maureen, filling the air with carbon monoxide and whooping it up with several waitresses who thought this pair of dirty old ladies were just the cutest things they'd ever seen.

Baffled and horrified, Dad approached the scene.

D: "Ma, what the hell are you doing here?"
G: (clearly intoxicated) "Tom, come sit down, we're having wings!"
D: (shakes head, looks confused)

"More wings, Grandma?"

A Hooters girl was bending over in front of Maureen, serving up more wings, when Maureen spilled her drink all over herself.

M: "Oh my, I haven't been THIS wet in YEARS."
D: "You are making me REALLY uncomfortable."

Dad managed to disentangle himself from the drunken deathgrip of my grandmother, and he went to sit at his own table to get to the level of "shitfaced" necessary to make him forget what he'd just seen. Gram and Maureen left a short time later; after all, Bingo at the Elks starts at 4pm sharp, you've gotta have priorities.

I'm told that they've been making weekly visits back because "the wings are to die for." Dad still occasionally wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat; the idea of your elderly mother checking out the same set of titties that you were can indeed be traumatic.

I'm seriously starting to think that maybe Grandma plays for the other team. It would certainly explain why she always hated Grandpa.