Pretty people, pretty drinks, good food.

Therapy 348 W. 52nd St. (betw. 8th & 9th Aves.), 212-397-1700. It's rainy and the spot is further west than I'd figured. Last time I was in this area with Itty, well, I got lost then too. She must think I always wander the town aimlessly. She'd not be far off. But eventually we find the place marked by a few soggy male smokers hanging about in front.

On a Friday evening it's very couplesy; although there are some groups. For the chatty with their own friends, there's a street-level lounge; for those without, a good-sized inner barroom featuring water burbling over gray rocks. For a more intimate experience there's soft-lighted balcony dining.

The cool environs sport slate tile flooring and a high counter supporting a multitude of long-stemmed orchids with white blooms. The laughter-filled lounge is standard (seems there are more lounges than pizza places lately), but on the upside, it is furnished with furry banquettes that are fun, and marble little tables and candles in the windows. The most feminine thing here is a suggestive Rorschach painting dominating the lounge-why, it's a butterfly of course, says Itty. Upstairs a DJ plays agreeable lite-dance.

There're no ties in residence; the guys are casually well-dressed. I see only one in a tarty outfit. Two women enter, survey, and make a quick exit. But you're welcome here, and our couldn't-be-nicer waiter (who is reminiscent of Zonker Harris) even asks us to stay a little later so he can bring us a free third round. And our second round had been deeply discounted, perhaps because the spot is fairly new.

I tell Itty that she should trade in her cats for a dog. But she makes the valid point that if a cat attacked you, you could throw it against the wall, but it would be more difficult to hurl a dog. Therapy's menu is chock full of fun-themed names for food and drink. Its prices are listed with tax included (which, after three martinis makes for a tricky-to-read receipt.) A Tranquility cocktail is anything but. The mix of Absolut Mandarin, Cointreau, Grand Marnier and o.j. has a great citrusy fragrance but is ultimately too rough to finish. But a cherry-red frozen Delusion cosmo is summer on the boardwalk and perfect for these dog days; sort of a slurpie for grownups.

My favorite (so far, I am still working my way through the martini menu) is the Pavlov's Dog, a super drink of Absolut Vanilia, Midori and pineapple. It's smooth vanilla on the tongue, yet some tartness comes into play. Even the straight will find it worth stopping in for. A Freudian Sip is potent, lemony and sophisticated with just enough ginger. Cocktails are $9. The cute waiter encourages you to sip so he can pour every last drop from the shaker. I see someone sampling a lovely trio of liqueurs. Being good? They serve Michelob Ultra ($5) here.

Violet and red glass plates pretty up already attractive presentations. The hummus platter ($14) is piled up with food and is very much fun to pick at. Pita wedges surround hummus that has been unfortunately over-pulverized to a fluffy cake-frosting texture and could use more cumin. It comes with an eggplant and roasted red pepper caponata that is smooth-tasting and cleverly contained in a crazily peppery ring of fried potato-better as a receptacle than a snack, but spice hounds will enjoy munching on it as a martini go-along.

Also on the plate, a variety of olives and roasted garlic cloves, plump and mellow enough to bite into. And a few stuffed grape leaves, the innards of which are somewhat sweet and pappy, alongside strong crumbly cubes of feta.

"My old, old boyfriend emailed and he mentioned he has a pony tail. Can he not let go of 1994? I mean, do you see any pony tails in here?"

Looking around, "Not one."

And then I, once again, try to convince Itty to come and work where I work. Because misery loves company.

Also on the snackable side are primped gorgeous mini stacks of pepper-seared tuna ($12), topped with precious minced vegetable slaw and surrounded by an Asian sesame-seeded dressing for dipping. A smoked salmon small plate ($10) comes on a dish painted with minced chives in olive oil, holds the thinnest specimens of well-browned delicate potato pancakes, small squares of tender salmon topped with doll-sized dollops of creme fraiche and green tobiko.

Upon drooling over our impressively plated selections, our handsome neighbors decide to order food too. Some starters on the menu are wild mushroom dumplings with scallion dipping sauce ($8), cornmeal crusted calamari with lemon caper aioli ($10) and rice- paper-wrapped salad with balsamic vinaigrette ($8). More substantial offerings include baby lamb chops with dijon glaze ($18) and the Therapy Burger and fries with roquefort and bacon on brioche ($10). For those with a sweet tooth, there's Tahitian vanilla and espresso ice creams ($6), creme brulee ($7) or "a nice basket of nuts & balls" ($7).

Therapy's a happy, upbeat place to wind down, and I'm certain the frozen cosmos taste better than Prozac. And by the way, gay bars remind me of Key West, which reminds me that graham-topped, iced Krispy Kreme key lime pie donuts-they're really too sweet, but for the half tablespoon or so of tangy filling within-will be available only through August 3.