After nearly a year and half of being open we have finally gained the one thing that is generally synonymous with Hooters. It's official, my Hooters has its very first set of fake boobs. One of our "less endowed" girls has official become the most endowed. And of course they look great even if they still need to fall and she can't sling in a ticket. And of course her tips have gone up. She's cute and sweet and making sick money and awesome and has amazing effing tits. Lucky her.
I could now go into a tirade on fake breasts and be all sorts of sarcastic, but I won't. You see the thing is I would love fake boobs one day. I mean I have 34C breasts (the same as my coworker's newest additions), but I have natural 34C breasts. Trust me, there is a very definite difference. One day, I would like to personally explore that difference if you know what I mean. Here's the thing though, I don't want new boobs today or tomorrow or even next year. I want an augmentation when I'm say, forty. You know when things are no longer where they should be and (potential) children have changed things irreversibly. I guess I see nothing wrong with putting things back where nature intended. Well, where nature originally intended.
And for the record she will be the first to say that is disgusted by the notable increase in her tips. She's the sort of girl - much like me - who believes that tips should be based on personality and service rather than the fullness of one's chest. I love her for it.