I haven’t written about babe.net’s story of a young woman’s evening with Aziz Ansari because I wasn’t sure what to say about it. I figured if I waited long enough, the issue would pass, and we could move on to other situations that are easier to assess. But the article has lingered in my mind, not just for the realness of it – of a graphic depiction of a night that felt wrong as it happened, and then worse in hindsight, a night that I and virtually everyone woman has experienced in some form or another – but because it doesn’t fit into a schema easily. It sticks around because we have no place to put it.
We end up packing it into the junk door of our psyche, and we encounter it every time we look for our keys.
The story, as told by a young woman identified only