Uda man

H has been out of town with the kids visiting family in Missouri and Kansas. So, I’ve been alone at home. Most of that time I’ve spent working on either Church stuff like a ward cannery activity and a temple visit, or honey-do projects, like building a new ladder for the play structure, doing some minor tile replacement, and doing a refinishing project in the master shower that turned out to be far more than I bargained for.

I have been too busy bother turning on the TV--I don't watch much, anyway--but I have done a couple of enjoyable things, like seeing Robin Hood at the dollar movie on Friday and dinner at a local Vietnamese place after a long day of work on Saturday. At the Vietnamese restaurant, my server was a pleasant young man of about 20 with a thick accent (Vietnamese, I assume). He took my order, then asked, “I have a question. What’s uda?”

“Uda?”

“Uda.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Hu-da.”

“Huda. Hmm…I’m sorry, I don’t know,” I finally conceded, having no idea what he was talking about.

“Hudas, like the restaurant, with the shirt.”

Light bulb. “Hooters?” I asked tentatively.

“Yes! Hudas! What does it mean?”

Oh, that. Yes, I do know what that means, and I meekly explained the word and the concept of the restaurant as I understand it, never having been there myself. “Beeg, boobs,” I heard him say to himself deliberately as he walked away.

The vermicelli noodles with charbroiled lemon grass chicken and chopped spring rolls, lettuce, and cucumbers was outstanding, by the way. Maybe I’m not a typical guy, but I’ll continue to take my bachelor week dinners at Pho Thong Lang or at home instead of “Udas,” thank you.