For many years, I thought my experiences of sexual assault were normal. But now, thanks to Donald Trump, I can finally admit that they're #notokay.

A lot of statements that Donald Trump has made over the past several months have made me furious. But none, I think, more than his dismissal of the statements he made on that video (the one that by now we've all seen and discussed ad infinitum) as "locker room talk." The moment the words left his mouth, I wanted to scream.

I'm going to get really personal in this one in ways that aren't easy for me, so let's start in a place we can all recognize: the college frat. At Harvard (at the time I was there, at least), we didn't really have fraternities and sororities; our campus social life revolved instead around institutions called "final clubs." They resembled the Greek system in nearly every way, save for the fact that they were only open to men. And the fact that a relatively small group of men held the reins of their university's nightlife had exactly the results you'd expect: they admitted girls to their clubs (or dismissed them) as they saw fit, rejected non-member male students entirely, and essentially behaved however they wanted to, secure in the knowledge that they were protected by decades - even centuries - of tradition (not to mention some extremely deep pockets).

...Well, okay, I didn't get a tattoo in a bar-bar. More like an room that had been transformed into 1/4 bar, 1/4 vintage boutique, 1/4 epic fashion display, and 1/4 tattoo parlor.

I'm going to back up for a sec.

I started the night at an event at Au Fudge (Jessica Biel's kid-friendly restaurant in Los Angeles) celebrating CNN anchor Adrianna Costa's Haute Mom's Life podcast, where she has candid conversations with celeb moms like Kate Hudson, Heidi Klum, Jessica Alba, and Gwen Stefani, among others. My lovely (very new mom) friend Audrey came with me, and we drank delicious things out of mismatched crystal goblets and chatted about the disaster that is newborns. We cracked up talking to Kristin Cruz of MomAngeles (such a fun site, btw, with tons of great ideas about family-friendly local events), wondered whether that was Soleil Moon Frye over there (still not sure), and furrowed our brows wondering how, exactly, Adrianna can be two weeks away from giving birth to her second child and still capable of peppily hosting a glamorous party in a skintight hot pink dress.

Me last night, in a very pretty dress. Let's just say things have gone downhill since then.

In lieu of an actual post about my morning, I thought I'd just leave the entire text conversation between myself and Francesca here for you.

P.S. The "skin in bed" reference has to do with residual effects from this, and may go down in history as the single most horrifying experience I have ever subjected Francesca to (and there have been many).