In the Daily Beast, food writer and Top Chef food judge Gael Greene writes about the hot and steamy summer affair she had with a married Entenmann’s delivery man. She pushes the propriety envelope when she starts talking about sexual specifics, but that’s not what got to us. Fine, she had sex. With an Entenmann’s guy. Who was married. Yawn.

What did excite us?

You did it in the Hamptons? At a house you describe as “a true beach house … with an extra bedroom, everything I needed in a kitchen, and a small guest suite over the garage?” And you rented it on a salary you got as a food writer?

You tell us it was “beyond East Hampton or Springs,” by way of explanation … but to our knowledge, that means you were probably summering in Amagansett or (gasp) Montauk, home to Madoff and Paul Simon. No wonder you had raucous adulterous sex with a stranger who dealt in baked goods. It was the only way to get through the lonely nights, you poor thing you.

Image source: US National Archives under Creative Commons

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