To the Young Woman Whose Ass I Drunkenly Smacked

To the young woman whose ass I drunkenly smacked on the people-mover at Universal four years ago: I’m so, so sorry.

It was my birthday weekend and I had spent the night at Rising Star in City Walk singing karaoke with my husband and a few friends. To say I was drunk is an understatement – I barely remember our interaction that night. What I do remember, however, is extremely cringeworthy.

I could try and blame it on the alcohol or 23 years of internalized misogyny, but the reality is that there’s no good reason and no excuse for my actions. My husband’s friend dared me to do it, and rather than laughing it off or refusing I stepped up to the plate and took my swing. I’m sure at the time I thought I was just being One of the GuysTM – and the irony of that mentality isn’t lost on me as a bisexual woman.

Your shock and annoyance were readily apparent even before you turned around, that much I do remember. I can only imagine the barbed tongue and open palm you may have unleashed if it had been a man behind such a violation. Because that’s what it really was; a violation. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a woman, or because I was very obviously intoxicated, or because sometimes it’s easier to just grit your teeth and smile, but when you turned and saw me behind you, caught literally red-handed, you let me off the hook. You handled the situation with a grace I didn’t deserve.

I know I immediately apologized, and while I can’t remember what I said I know I tried to glaze over the whole incident by making small talk as the people-mover carried us to the parking lot. While I vaguely recall you engaging in the conversation, it wouldn’t surprise me at all to learn that you were counting down the seconds until the walkway ended and we could go our separate ways.

I want you to know that I’m sorry, and I want you to know that my actions, however hazy, lingered to haunt me in the quiet moments where our brains decide to punish themselves. You would’ve been right to be mad, you would’ve been right to send a fist swinging back at me, and you would’ve even been right to have me arrested for battery. Florida law states that battery is the intentional touching or striking of another person against their will, and it’s a more than fitting definition for what I did to you, a complete stranger. I also want you to know that I’ve done a lot of cringing and reflecting since that night.

I’ve certainly had my share of other drunken shenanigans, as one generally does when they’re learning to hold their liquor. There’s the day I slept through morning rehearsal because I didn’t wake up and start to sober up until noon. There’s the night I accidentally pulled a woman’s dress up to her stomach as we were dancing. There’s the night I sat down and peed on the sidewalk in the middle of campus as my friend and I were staggering home.

I think the reason this drunken moment stayed with me is because there’s no amount of alcohol that could have made it ok. There was no awkward laughter in the morning as the grainy, low-quality film reel started to replay the choppy highlights of the night’s events. There was no shaking my head and showering it off, chalking it up to alcoholic stupidity. The only thing I felt when I woke up and remembered your face was shame, with no possible way to spin it or justify it.

I’ve tried to treat all women better since then, including myself. I haven’t touched another woman without her consent, and I’ve tried to be a better ally and friend to the women around me – strangers or not. I’ve also tried to recognize the attention-seeking and desperate-to-please mentalities that precede some of my more questionable decisions. From this experience I learned that if fitting in requires me to violate my own or someone else’s boundaries, then it’s not a crowd I want to fit in with. As such, I’ve distanced myself some from the friend that made the dare.

I wish I could meet you again to apologize sincerely. I wish I could introduce you to the ghost of that night, and show you the role it played in helping me wake up to my more cringeworthy tendencies. And if you’d like, I also want to give you the chance to hold me properly accountable – whatever that may look like. But more than anything, I want you to know that I’m working to be better.