A Death At Hooters

Stephanie Hayes: Breasts. Boobs. Hooters.

Half the population has a pair.

In America, they're celebrated. Obsessed over. Regarded with a sexy sense of humor.

But sometimes, breasts get cancer.

The cancer is reckless and unfunny. Like an intruder in the night, it leaves the body ransacked.

It's not sexy.

So, let's say you're Hooters. The owl on your sign has two big, round eyes with dots in the middle. Your slogan is "Delightfully Tacky, Yet Unrefined."

Your "Hooters Girls" are famous for sweet physiques and tight orange shorts. They are hourglass beauties ready with a warm smile and a plate of wings. They are all-American sex appeal.

What happens when cancer finds a Hooters Girl? A pink ribbon and an ogling owl try to live in harmony.

It's a weekday morning at the original Hooters in Clearwater, and Eau de Chicken Grease fills the air. Countdown to the lunch shift.