I'm Obsessed With A Stripper

Dating strippers may be the stuff of legends, or at least a decent letter to Hustler Magazine. And yet, I seem to find their leftovers. As in, "yeah, my ex was a stripper."
Oh Jesus. Now most women would get up, thank Joe or Bob for the free drink or steak dinner and rush home to catch the last 10 minutes of The Daily Show. But not me. I sit there, rooted to the spot. Then questions start falling out of my mouth,uncontrollably, like farts in church: Was she totally hot? Was she tall? Did she have fake boobs or real ones? Was she an amazing dancer? Did she have any tan lines? Brazilian wax?
And of course, the piece de resistance: was she fucking unbelieveable in bed?
I can't help it. It just intimidates the hell out of me. It's like going to the gym to meet my new personal trainer and saying, well, my last trainer was The Rock, so what's your story?
I know I know, it's totally overrated, strippers are usually fucked up in the head, it's difficult to date when you know you have to "share", blah blah blah. But when I stand there in my new Vickie's Secret number, while you may find me cute I don't believe that you will suddenly have the urge to throw dollar bills at me, order a lap dance, or write a hit song.