I’m sitting at a bar, and a man wearing nothing but boxer-brief-esque swim trunks and bow tie asks me what I’d like to drink.

I’m not in heaven — I’m at Tallywackers, a new restaurant based in Dallas that’s billed itself as a Hooters-style spot for women.

The eatery, which officially opened its doors Saturday, features an all-male wait staff outfitted in the aforementioned gray swim shorts and, in some cases, tiny red tanks. So naturally I went to the grand opening.

When I arrived around dinnertime, there was already a white limo full of members of a bachelorette party stumbling onto what looked like a red carpet leading to two shirtless men in bow ties. (All of these accouterments adorned an otherwise unassuming tan building between two banks.)

Once the scantily clad men ushered me in, I had to squint to readjust my eyes to the dim light. The first thing that caught my attention: a waiter who had dressed up his tiny torso with a necklace, tattoos, and two giant nipple rings.

“I hope those stay out of my food,” I thought as I surveyed the rest of the room, which included a giant horseshoe bar and large flat-screen televisions playing music videos from various female pop icons on mute.

The real décor, though, was the men. There were about 40 of them scattered around the restaurant, taking orders, ringing up tabs, making drinks, and greeting customers. The ones who were behind the tall bar (and were therefore partially covered by it) looked totally naked.

There were quite a few perfectly built specimens, but six-packs weren’t universal among the staff. One commonality was the abundance of what I’ll simply refer to as bad-spring-break-decision tattoos on their torsos.

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I had the choice to go left for patio seating, right for regular dining, or stay the course and head for the bar. I grabbed a menu from the unattended host stand and found an empty seat next to two middle-aged women who were unabashedly arguing over which man they found most attractive.

When I asked what brought them to the place, they told me without hesitation it was “for the eye candy.”

I asked if they were here for the food at all (people do insist they go to Hooters for the wings), and they laughed loudly.

I decided it was time for a drink, and as I looked around for a bartender, I caught sight of a large waiter who had leaned over to flirt with a customer. His shorts barely fit past half of his lower region, exposing more than half of his crack. He must have felt me staring because he turned around and walked over to my side of the bar.

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He looked at me, and just as I was about to order, he walked past me to get my two new friends’ orders: two beers.

As he was about to walk away, I decided to pull the obnoxious waving gesture, which luckily got his attention.

The waiter stared at me, waiting for my order, which is when I realized I had no clue what I actually wanted. I asked him if he could make a special cocktail and giggled at my own joke.

He pointed to three churning margarita machines and said, “I guess, uh, this frozen drink we have called ‘The Gator’?”

I told him that sounded great and turned back to the ladies, who were now discussing the bar back standing in front of us.

The bartender and his crack came back to deliver my drink — a dark green frozen concoction in a plastic cup. I asked him what was in it, and he said “alcohol.” Fair enough.

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I took a sip of what tasted like a grape Popsicle dipped in pure sugar. I took a bigger sip and immediately suffered from a brain freeze. I winced, looked down at my menu, and decided it was dinnertime.

The menu is filled with typical bar fare with a phallic twist. I’ve also heard that if you ask for an appetizer menu, your waiter will lift up his shirt (if he’s wearing one), exposing his six-pack (or belly) while revealing a menu printed on the inside of his shirt—although, sadly, I didn’t experience this firsthand.

The signature dish, the Tallywacker, is a pound of all-beef frank on a fresh bun, topped with two pickle spears.

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If eating a giant weiner in public makes you uncomfortable, you also have the option of comfort food like shrimp and grits and chicken fried steak.

I decided to go the safe route and order the S&M (that would be Swiss and mushroom) burger with truffle fries. I grabbed the closest shirtless male and placed my order.

My bartender made his way back to my area and started chatting with my lady friends about an upcoming performance at the restaurant that evening. (Tallywackers’ website promises “performers such as the world-renown celebrity impressionist Mark Alan Smith, female vocalist Vero Vaz, and drag talents from the incredible Ivana Tramp, plus the many characters of Kortney Van Wales.”)

Feeling brave from my diabetes drink, I decided to butt into the conversation and ask if the waiter was one of the show’s performers.

“I was told I was too good at bartending to take on any more jobs,” he said, laughing as he continued to walk past almost an entire row of customers trying to order a drink.

I took a bite of my burger and was pleasantly surprised. The fries were slightly cold, though, and I couldn’t get a side of ketchup for the life of me.

The meal was a bit messy, but seeing as I never received utensils, I had just one tiny cocktail napkin with which to remedy the situation. Apparently there’s only one type of service they want you to think about at Tallywacker’s.

I was tempted to stay to check out the performance, but the place was getting crowded with thirsty customers who kept squeezing in on either side of me to try to order a drink — and no one could adequately explain to me what the performance was even supposed to be that night — so I decided to improve my male-objectifying karma by vacating my seat.

Before I left, I turned to my two friends and asked them if they planned to come back regularly.

“Nah,” one said. “It is a fun thing to do, but I don’t need to eat my meals while staring at shirtless guys every day.”