She spent our date telling me how she’d had an affair with our waitress, which was fine. That happens when you date a stripper—it’s half the reason you date a stripper. But, when she took me home, she drove demon-fast, erratically and sang over an ear-splitting stereo. She then flashed the cars next to us while swerving into their lane.

—Rob

Aftermath: I never called her again, though she did show up at my house on her break, wearing a waist-length blond wig. I turned her down gently, not telling her that she was two degrees too crazy for me.

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