Bartenders love Trenton. Wait, let me rephrase that. Female bartenders love Trenton. At first I found it mildly irritating, but now I’m starting to enjoy the perks that come with dating a head-turner. There are still occasional frustrations. Take Moonbeam, for example. Moonbeam is a waitress at Cumberland Brews and that is not her real name. Once we thought it might be Wendy, but there’s no Wendy in the list of waitresses in the menu insert. We call her Moonbeam because she wears loose-fitting clothes and seems like the type of waitress that enjoys growing her own herbs, not shaving her pits, and eating natural peanut butter. Plus she wears a red string around her wrist that I think means she practices Kabbalah. Trenton’s not convinced, but he has a soft spot for Moonbeam.

And for good fucking reason. Moonbeam adores Trenton and goes out of her way to make sure he’s well taken care of. I could be dramatically and pointedly dehydrating right before her eyes, but Trenton never sees the bottom of a pint glass. On one memorable occasion, Moonbeam was taking our drink order and asked to see my ID. When Trenton also took his out, she shooed it away, saying, “Oh, no. I don’t need to see it; I recognize you.” Kind of funny the first time it happened, less so the second and third.

The other waitresses at Cumberland Brews are equally enamored but less discriminatory. Sunday night one of them secured us a table upstairs, and even tossed some elbows when another group tried to snatch it before we got there. Despite the fact that a different waitress ended up covering our table, later in the evening, she ran up, set two 10th anniversary commemorative pint glasses on the table and told us to keep quiet about them, since she didn’t have enough for the whole room.

I’m savvy enough to know I’ve got very little to do with this preferential treatment. The other night at Bogart’s, when Trenton miscalculated his funds, the cute blonde bartender let me have my gin & tonic anyway, for only $3. I can guarantee if I’d come up $4 short for a cocktail without my tall, blue-eyed arm candy, I would have gone thirsty.