I was 21, and completely unaware that this was a phenomenon I’d have to deal with for the rest of my twenties. It stunned me so much that I didn’t even move at first, I just stood there thinking to myself that surely it had been an accident. I didn’t know the guy; I’d never even seen him before. I thought maybe he just hadn’t realized what he’d done. Or maybe he was just drunk. Or maybe he thought I was someone else. Whatever the deal was, in about 30 seconds I’d come up with 10 reasons why I shouldn’t freak out about it.

That attitude carried me about 2 months, until it happened again. I was standing at a bar trying to order a drink when I distinctly felt someone’s hand on my ass. I whirled around to see who it could have been, but saw no one even looking in my direction. Had I imagined the whole thing? Was I losing my mind? Or was this the work of some elusive stealth choad that I just couldn’t catch in the act?

Many years and about a hundred roving hands later, I take a far more assertive approach. The second I feel a hand on me I grab the wrist and bend it backward. I then get up in the asshole’s face and ask loudly why the hell he thinks I don’t have the right to walk by him without feeling his tickle-dick paws somewhere on my body. That usually does the trick. A bouncer will come running, a friend will step in, or the molesting little coward will slink out the door as quickly as possible muttering a word of apology. Still, making the situation right doesn’t make up for the fact that there is a breed of choad out there that doesn’t understand that women’s bodies aren’t their personal playgrounds.

I can’t say for sure how this kind of behavior starts out, but I’ve got a couple theories. Maybe Daddy was a perv who left mom and kiddo for the 20 year old secretary at his office. Maybe mom started dating men with anger issues who treated her like crap, and Junior never learned that treating women like chew toys isn’t acceptable. Whatever it is that allows this kind of behavior to germinate, there’s got to be a way to squash it before the little shit gets old enough to be feeling up women in bars.

I call it the “Grabass Plague,” and unfortunately the responsibility for stopping it seems to fall on women. Every time a gal lets some slimeball get away with grabbing the goods, it only reinforces the idea that it won’t be a problem next time the loser tries it. Ladies, SPEAK UP!!! I know MTV and Playboy tell us daily that it’s practically our God-given obligation to be sex objects, but you still have the right to determine what happens to your person.

And if you’re one of those shady fuckers dragging your mitts across rows of skirts in crowded buildings, consider this– Right now some like-minded circle jerk jackass is looking at your mom, your sister, and your girlfriend with the same intentions.