I think one of the best ways to spend a Saturday night is having drinks and reminiscing on days past. Unless those memories are dark, frightful, and cringe worthy.

You're sitting in the corner booth of a slightly run-down but lovable bar. The pleather of the booth is a bright red and you're sitting on the uncomfortable crack where two pieces go together. You have too many people crammed into this booth, but you don't mind because you're having a great time.

Your friend asks her boyfriend if he remembers that time that he had to come pick her up from work because a man threatened to come back and beat her ass when she got off for not giving him free food. She recalls how terrified she was. Her boyfriend recalls how angry he was.

She then tells a story of a late night Wal-Mart trip. She went in to grab a few things after work when two large men started following her around and cat-calling at her. She checked out and headed to her car. She heard them yelling behind her. When she looked back, they were following her to her car. She had to run to her car. RUN. She never went back alone.

Another girl at the table, who you don't know, is talking about a time when she was followed at a bar.

You take a drink of your fruit punch flavored drink and shake your head.

Your good friend says, "I feel like every woman has a story."

And that just kind of hits you. Hard.

As you sit there in this bar surrounded by friends, you feel sad. The anxiety, or the need for safety, comes creeping in. You don't know if it's from the recollection of jarring memories or if you're craving the safety of your significant other. You know you're safe and protected in that corner booth surrounded by friends, including several men.

But you can't help it. You still feel anxiety. You still keep an eye on your surroundings. You still feel like you're being over-paranoid or ridiculous when you're not. All women feel this or have felt it at some point in their life.

I tell my friends my stories.

I tell them of the time my friend and I were walking home from a festival that was only three blocks from my house. I tell them how our friend gave us a pocket knife and told us to be careful. I remember thinking it was ridiculous to need a pocket knife to walk home, but I clutched it in my hand anyway. I saw them, the two guys. They were riding bikes down the road my friend and I were walking on. I told my friend to walk in front of me and to get ready to run.

Was I overreacting?

As I told her this, I had the knife retracted but hidden in my purse. I was oddly calm but my heart was beating to fast I thought it would give out. I don't know if I was more scared or more angry that this was happening. The two men rode their bikes around us cat-calling and asking us for our names and numbers or if we had boyfriends.

I told them we were uninterested and to go away. I was honestly ready to stab them. Like I told my friend, I will f*ck someone up.

Eventually they rode away, calling us "bitches" the whole time. We went into my house and I think we legit cried.

Another time, with the same friend, we were on our campus. We had a spot where we went to sit when it was nice out and to smoke. Since our campus is non-smoking, we usually went and sat on the side walk by a bus stop.

It was late at night. My friend and I always joked about getting kidnapped off the sidewalk and would get yelled at by passing cars. They would say things like, "Hey baby!" or "Smoke another!" We always yelled back at them things that your momma would probably smack you for.

That night two guys came up to us and asked us what we were smoking and why we were out late at night. We are on a college campus. This was not news to us that anyone would come up and talk to us. It had happened before. They seemed like nice enough guys.

However, they were older. Much older. They were old enough to know that they should ask us if we were over eighteen. You know, if we were "legal". *pukes*

What made me uncomfortable about this situation is not only that they were much older but the fact that they told us they were looking for someone to "hit that" and that they were in town to visit a buddy and were looking for some people [girls] to party.

They offered us the beer that they had in their cargo short pockets. I mean, innovative on their part, but still rather off-putting to me. I don't like beer and tried to decline. Not only does beer make me sick, but the thought of accepting liquor from a stranger on the side of the street screamed THEY'RE DRUGGING YOU.

This makes me feel like a bitch for thinking this way, but when you spend most of your adolescent years getting told to never drink something from a stranger and to never set your drink down in public or at a party, your mind assumes these things. It's a reflex.

They wouldn't let us decline the beer. I took it but didn't drink any of it.

They asked us if we wanted to get in their car and go try and find a party.

UHHHHHHH. NAH.

We declined, politely. Luckily for us, they were nice about it. Eventually they left. I poured the beer into the bushes on my walk back to my dorm.

I was relieved the situation stayed at that. For the rest of the night, I wondered what would've happened if we were in a more secluded place, if one of us had been alone, if we were intoxicated and incapable of defended ourselves. The what-ifs will kill you.

I'm not saying all of this because I think all the men in the universe are born predators that attack women, or other men for that matter.

I do recognize that men can and ARE assaulted whether it be physically or sexually. I also understand that women can be the assailant. I know all of this. I also know that there are men who are not predators and who would kick the ass of anyone who harmed a woman, or a man.

Just for arguments sake, I was at the gas station trying to put air in my tire. This tire was notorious for deflating on me - almost like Tom Brady and them footballs (sorry, I had to).

I do, in fact, know a good deal about cars. So, I know how to air up and change a tire. However, I messed up the valve stem and air wouldn't stop coming out of the tire. I was trying to fix it when this man, probably in his forties, came out of the gas station and asked if I needed help.

He put down his bag of ice and helped me fix it. I didn't feel threatened or harassed. I felt happy and relieved. He held a conversation with me and he left with a smile.

There are nice people in this world, but there are also a whole lot of bad people.

Regardless, every woman has a story. A story of where they were followed, cat-called, stalked, abused, or even just uncomfortable.

Some have more gruesome or heart breaking stories. As I write this, I feel silly.

I feel silly because there are so many women, and men, who have been assaulted. I know several who have. I don't write this to try and act like I know what that pain and burden is like, because I do not.

I write this to help people understand that this is how majority of women feel on a daily basis. This is why we call you when we are walking alone at night. This is why we call you when we go get the mail or walk to our car in a parking lot. This is why we ask you to go with us somewhere. This is why we have our friends go to the bathroom with us. This is why we don't go out alone. This is why I sleep with a knife next to my bed and a pistol in my nightstand. This is why I check the backseat of my car every time I get in it alone. This is why. This is a defense mechanism that is so ingrained in our brains that it's ridiculous and involuntary.

And for the victims of assault or abuse, you are strong. You are courageous. I admire you. I feel for you. You will overcome this.

I am hopeful for you. I am hopeful for our future. I am hopeful that our country will reach understanding when it comes to domestic abuse and sexual assault. I am hopeful for an understanding without bounds - to all genders.

I am hopeful for a time when no one has to feel this way.

I am hopeful for your understanding and knowing that we, as women, aren't being ridiculous. The idea of us fearing for our safety constantly is not ludicrous.

You can be that type of person that thinks it's crazy or thinks that it doesn't happen.

But it does.

And, that'll never change until our society recognizes that.