The letter writer is happily married and let's assume his unsuspecting coworker is as well. Who is being served by complicating their work situation by introducing what can only be a disruptive situation to their respective workplaces? Who is served? Perhaps the letter writer is served because he'll know if someone else loves him, big deal, he has a wife at home that loves him (didn't we go through this in high school?). If he truly "loves" this woman, he would respect her and not reveal any of this to her. Also, let's not forget the woman at home (his wife) to whom he pledged his love and fidelity. Yes, exploring what ifs is a quick path to infidelity -- in my book, when you are verbally flirting with someone with the intention of pursuing what ifs, you may as well be in bed with her. Respect your wife, respect your coworker and act like an adult -- keep your fantasies and what-ifs to yourself.

Count me among those who think Cary sometimes challenges readers by giving provocatively bad advice. I pity the poor guy if he took it, because he could quickly find himself without job and family.

Most thinking adults realize it's possible to bond with co-workers in a way which seems deep but vanishes outside the office. Sometimes these feelings grow beyond the cubicles, but sometimes they are so rich because they are so restricted.

We've also experienced what happens when this bond is mistaken for true feelings friendship, family or love - directly if we're unlucky. These awkward, hellish moments are what make office Christmas parties fascinating.

This guy needs to realize his crush is internal and the need to share is selfish. Were this a non-work relationship it would be a navigable, if still potentially awful, faux pas. Only an asshole puts a co-worker in such an awkward position. When it's a married co-worker - it ranges from rude to a firing offense.

Beyond married/office, most girls I know loathe sneaky crap like the "what if" game. It's pathetically transparent because women tolerate come-ons disguised as casual conversation all the time. We tell ourselves being indirect is less loaded and respectful, but seeking plausible deniability by putting someone else on the spot sexually or emotionally with an unspoken question is creepy. Especially if it's a supposed friend you respect.

In true friendship you can blurt out desire, get a direct answer and get past it with minimal discomfort. If you've got to trick a member of the opposite sex into satisfying your curiosity, you aren't a friend, you're hovering.

He should share his feelings - with a therapist. Telling his partner or co-worker makes them unwilling participants in what may be a purely internal struggle which can reach an internal solution without exterior impact.

Just saying.

the "what if" game is infinitely annoying, as is any and all fishing. Don't force someone into the position of having to play dumb (I do that all the time) if they aren't interested or unsure of how to respond to your fishing game.

Cary Tennis is a recovering alcoholic on a mission to create upheaval in the private affairs of others. So what can be concluded about his advice column to the married guy with hots for the married gal in the workplace?

First, as a 12 step disciple and proselytizer, Tennis's advice in general should be viewed through the lens of selfish sorry deprecation masquerading as honesty. Exploring the narrative of a poor soul with similarly conflicting circumstances and a hot vagina at the watercooler scuttlebutt, regardless of how many children she shat into the world under the torment of wedlock, if the guy wants to keep his job or family, keep it zipped. Even if he can charm off the pants of the MILF in question, then write her poems. Or a powerpoint presentation with neat colors and fancy bullett points of love.

Tennis is ridiculous. Let's go back to third grade. Spill your heart. If you listen to the advice of a recovering alcoholic, you are guataranteed plenty of ideas. "Gee shucks, let's spill our guts! And see whose Higher Power wins out! Gosh I got a crush on you."

Tennis is no pragmatist, just a pregnant tear-jerker, who wants to rock unsteady boats.

Dear Cary: I've been reading your column for several years, and most of the time, I think your advice is pretty sensible and, often, quite creative and insightful.

But your response to this poor schmuck is baffling, and I am certain that I recall a letter, published right here at some time in the past couple years or so, in which you addressed a similar situation quite differently. I believe the letter was penned by a very earnest professional, married; I don't remember if there were any kids in the picture. He wrote to tell you that he'd been enamored of his co-worker, and (perhaps) that the co-worker was also enamored of him, and they were almost ready to Do It, but that he (and she) both felt guilty as hell about their respective loving spouses and possible children, and oh, oh, what should they DO?

The only thing I retain these days is water, but I am quite certain that I remember the essence of your response, Cary. You sternly, wisely told the poor schmuck to abandon his crush, reminding him of his responsibility to his marriage. I was most impressed by your firm, almost paternal counsel, so beautifully moral and right. Yours was a vote against faithlessness in a self-indulgent world, and it made a huge impression on this little cowgirl.

So what happened THIS time, Cary?

Once I bought a dreadful women's mag from the supermarket, just to see what was in it. I have never forgotten one article, a sex advice column penned, ostensibly, by a man. The article talked quite earnestly about how to please one's man in the sack with a few new tricks. 'Many men enjoy stimulation of the perineum and anus,' it confided. 'Often, a finger, or two, inserted at the right moment, can be most pleasurable. Some men even enjoy surprise insertion of the entire hand.'

Immediately, I had a startling mental image of hundreds of faithful readers of this pulp, all middle-aged Midwestern housewives, trying outta nowhere to fist their poor husbands. I thought it was the worst advice I'd read in any column, ever.

And it still is, I suppose. But your advice to this poor guy takes the silver.