Service Included?

A long time ago in my French Quarter days, I learned a rule: Never go home with the help.

I'm thinking it should be more of a guideline than a rule.

I eased into the New York work week with a much-needed post-travel workout massage from Hamlet last night.

Afterwards Larry met me at The Place. We'd been there once before and it's going to become at least a semi-regular haunt. Cozy, quiet, good food — very small and kind of rustic in an old Provincetown in a way.

Last visit, I developed a petite penchant for our waiter. He was there again, compact and charming as ever, a little red-22 with really cute arms in a tight black t-shirt. His colleague last night was equally as edible; had that derriere been on the dessert cart, we might have actually ordered.

"They were adorable," I said as we waited in the rain for a cab. "Not perfect, like that boy at Bottino who I'd leave you for, but adorable nonetheless."

So yes, the guideline is don't go home with the help. But that doesn't stop the idle mind from creating a list of possibilities.

DILFs are hot, but, for this season at least, I think it's time to explore not Dads, but Waiters.

Yup, it's all about the WILF.