We dismissed some behavior—we could take a dirty joke. Others—the men who made points to tell us about their open marriages, who followed us into restrooms, who sent explicit text messages and then claimed to be too drunk to remember, who didn’t hear the word “no,” who retaliated when they did, who groped our asses—we couldn’t. We thanked God it wasn’t us. And when it was, we felt a sick sense of comfort that it wasn’t only us, a relief like having just vomited after a hangover.
