“The frats are chartering buses to pick women up from the houses and then they are driving them to a secret location,” Cindy texts. “How can we leave if we don’t know where we are? I don’t even like to drink and I don’t feel safe.”

I tell Cindy that I have pepper spray and a stun-gun in my purse and we can take a taxi home the second we feel threatened.

...I slink into the bar and consider: why would girls would put themselves in this strange position? Going out with a group of young, horny guys who are going to spend a lot of money on a party with the hopes that they could have sex with you (or at least do tops and fingers). It seems like a lot of pressure.

I assume with frats in the deep South or wherever there is nothing else to do but drink and fail Chemistry, that these sort of occasions could take on a darker, more desperate edge but tonight it’s all very polite. It helps that none of the boys are athletes. They are not physically intimidating and not associated with such a deeply corrupt racket such as college sports.

Well, this isn’t entirely true.

A few of the boys here, some girls swoon, are swimmers.

It is heartening to know that after everything, our dear NVC has not changed.

Sad to see her at Broadly, though. I liked that place.