Yep, in the la la land of SoCal, I found out that my biggest kid's best buddy was the one who had the Hooters party last year for his ELEVENTH birthday. To which I said, no, thanks, you can't go.
Then, this year, I was informed he was turning another year older, and once again considering the Hooters party. It's amazing what you will do (or almost do) for your kids because you love them and you want them to have a happy life. I started to justify things. I started to think, "I trust this eldest kid,' 'Oh his buddy is such a good boy',.. blah blah blah. In the end I had a smack down with my insecure people pleasing side and just like many ask themselves, "WWJD?" I asked myself, "WWMMTOFMN?" You haven't heard that one? It's 'What Would My Mother Think of Me Now?" It's the reason if I became an actual published author I could never write a sex scene. I can't ever get a tattoo or a boob job (how would she explain this to her friends?) You know, that sort of thing that keeps you on the straight and narrow. So, I explained to oldest boy - "How in the world would I be able to explain to your Grandmother that I let her 12 year old grandson go to a birthday party at HOOTERS?"
The thing that makes me think I need my glasses checked is discussing this with various and sundry people last year, the people who live in this little enclave didn't see my big stink about this. Because, you see, the daddies take their sons there on the way to the dirt bike track, or whatever. ?!#(*)?
As a red-blooded woman who thinks of myself as a little more than body parts in tight fitting clothing, I am appalled. I want my son to grow up and open doors for others, respect women as having a brain and being a true partner in his life, not someone they think can adorn their arm as eye candy.
So, my husband ran into one of the parent's of the buddy and explained that we weren't into the Hooters scene. And, thankfully, being actually very nice people I am glad to know, they decided to change the venue to someplace a little more 'Karen is a prude' accomodating. Phew.