Someone Needs to Grow Up in Greeville

Q: I met a great woman in the grocery store last week. In fact, we struck it off so well standing in line, I asked her out for coffee. We spent a whole two hours talking and laughing. Just when I was about to ask her out for a real date, she dropped the news that she's a stripper at a local dive. It might make me shallow, but my interest went down immediately. I took her number but haven't called her yet. I know my mother would kill me if she knew I was dating a stripper, and how would I introduce her to my friends?

Anne: Look, you had a good time with this lady. You had no idea of her profession before she told you, so she doesn't "act" like a stripper—whatever that means. If you like her, see her. Let the rest take care of itself.

Dee: Are you out of your mind? You liked her. She liked you. By a fucking pole for the living room and enjoy your good fortune. You found a woman who has a mind and sense of humor and a good body. Are you getting the picture here?? If you won't go out with someone you like because you're afraid of what mommy would think, then you don't need a pussy for entertainment, you are a pussy. If she'd said she was a prostitute with her own street corner, I'd feel differently. But a dancer? For Pete's sake, bite the bullet and grow a set.