Dear Donald Trump

Dear Donald, 

I know you're a very rich, very successful Billionaire businessman who is going do very amazing and very great things for our country, but I need a moment of your time. 

During the debate, you said your latest blunder of verbal diarrhea was locker room talk. I think you might have apologized after that, but you quickly changed the subject to Isis, so I'm still a little confused.

 

You see, you weren't in a locker room. You were in a professional work environment. You had people around you. YOU HAD ON A MIC. 

So are you actually sorry you said it? Or are you only sorry you said it outside of a locker room, because you believe it's perfectly normal inside of a locker room? Or maybe you're just sorry you forgot you had on a mic and the tape got leaked?

It's important for me to understand your stance, because while this might be typical chit-chat for men, I'd like to describe to you what is typical for women.

When I was 15-years-old I went to a high school party with my friend. Two older guys, who I thought I could trust, tricked me into following them into a room. As soon as I walked inside, they immediately shut and locked the door behind me. Two 18-year-old men, over 6 feet tall and 250 pounds staring back at me, a girl barely 5 feet tall, weighing 100 pounds on a good day.

Can you imagine the terror, Donald?

They both started touching me and trying to take off my clothes. I kept saying no and fighting back. But let's be real. I didn't stand a chance.

It all happened so fast. Most of it a blur. Could this really be happening? I'm a virgin. I don't even like these guys. PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME.

The house party was loud, with music playing and people talking. I didn't know if anyone would hear me if I screamed. I also knew they would just cover my mouth. I tried to reason with them and made it very clear I wanted them to stop.

But they didn't care.

Feeling helpless and alone, I gave up hope.

Then suddenly, as they were unzipping my pants, I heard a BANG on the door. Not a little bang. Not just a few bangs. This was a fiery bang. A bang with intent. A bang that wasn't going to stop until someone answered.

My heart began to race. Who was there? 

Was it another guy? Was it a mistake? Would they ignore me and go away? Would they stop them?

The two guys, annoyed they had to stop their you know, ATTEMPTED RAPE, to answer a door, swung it open to find my best friend at the door.

MY BEST FRIEND.

She became worried when she couldn't find me and grabbed a guy to help her search. They frantically went from room to room in the house.

Since my friend had the guy with her, who was also their mutual friend, they played it off like nothing was happening. 

I quickly grabbed my shirt, zipped up my pants and ran out of there so fast.

I can't really remember if I ever properly thanked my friend, since I was in shock. But to my friend (you know who you are), thank you. And I love you. That night was a bad night, but you stopped it from being the worst night of my life.

A similar occurrence would happen a year later when I went to a classmate's house, where a bunch of people were hanging out after school. This was my first time at his house. It was a beautiful, historic home and he told me I could look around if I wanted to. Are you kidding me? Of course I want to! 

I headed up the stairs, alone I thought, to check out the second floor. Another guy quietly crept up the stairs after me and cornered me in a room. He began touching me. But luckily again, my classmate, the guy who lived there, walked in the room and broke it up.

He later pulled me aside and said he watched him follow me up the stairs and wanted to make sure I was safe.

To men like that, who look out for women, thank you.

THANK YOU.

Which man are you, Donald?

Anyway, now I'm an adult and I've learned that it doesn't stop there.

Just this Friday night, after eating dinner with friends, I was harassed at a gas station. From the moment I stepped out of my car, I was obnoxiously cat-called. The man followed me inside the gas station and back out to my car while I pumped gas, as he said obscenities to get my attention.

Or how about last week during a trip to Home Depot. In the parking lot I saw a group of men sitting on the back of a truck eating lunch. As soon as I passed, I heard them discussing my body. Whistling. Laughing. Making noises. ALL I WANT IS BLINDS. BLINDS. OKAY?! Leave me alone.

And while they may think I enjoy this, maybe it's even a compliment in their mind, I would like them to know this doesn't remind me of my beauty.

It reminds me that I still live in a world where some men look at me like I'm a piece of meat.

Maybe there was a time in middle school or high school when I felt the need to receive attention to boost my self-esteem, but I AM A GROWN ASS WOMAN now.

Thank you, BUT NO THANK YOU.

Still there, Donald? I'm getting to my point.

Did you know that recently a woman walked around NYC for a day and was cat-called 108 times?! 108 TIMES! That locker room talk you refer to, that you dismiss, that you act like isn't a big deal. It's A BIG DEAL. VERY BIG. Like your hands. Maybe that will get your attention.

Locker room talk isn't locker room talk when it happens every day, every where and to almost every woman OUTSIDE OF THE LOCKER ROOM.

But you already know that, don't you, Donald? 

Because you weren't in a locker room.

 

ONE IN FIVE women will be raped in her lifetime. Let's talk about it.

P.S. Please share this with Billy, Donald. It might be useful to him too.

P.S.S. It is acceptable to give a woman a compliment as long as it is respectful, genuine and without sexual intent.