…that the days you really don’t want to go to the gym — making excuses, promising yourself that you’ll fast that day if only you can skip — but do are the days that matter most.

My newsfeed is inundated with people digitally crying over Kavanaugh’s advance and rightfully so. I can’t help but wonder how many of these digital tears are from closeted abusers. A closeted abuser is someone that seems, to the naked eye, like a totally normal guy.

Honestly, I wish I had these guidelines when I was your age. I wore a skort once and all the boys did all day was look at me like a slobbery dog looks at a juicy piece of meat. I felt really bad that I did that to them.

I’ve never met an incel, at least not a card-carrying one or one who admitted it, let alone a “He-Man Woman Hater.” I can’t think of a time when I was friends with a dude who thought it was anything but vile stupidity to cat-call a woman on the street or from a car. Granted, I quit theater years ago, don’t hang out much in comedy clubs and decided that the improv scene was far too much like high school so maybe I’m missing out on all the dripping toxicity of dudes who are doing everything they can to be seen as funny and cool in order to get laid, sometimes at any cost.