She is the granddaughter of a placard-waving feminist so surely her gran's hard-won progress means things should be better for her than they were for me? Surely, she should still not have to become THAT girl.
The girl finding her knickers, putting them back on, awkwardly leaving, making jokes, pretending she doesn't mind, pretending the whole experience didn't make her feel, really, just s***.
My heart breaks for that brave, sad girl. I know exactly how she will do the walk of shame, desperately trying to mentally reconstruct the wretched experience as amusing and later use it as material to make her friends laugh: "He said 'hop on'!"
"Haven't you ever had sex in the toilets at SPQR?"
"Is there anyone who hasn't slept with him? We should form a group."
It helps to get in first. "Who cares? Not me!" But honey, you can't fool me. My heart breaks for that girl, because I have been her. Although, back then hook-ups weren't even called hook-ups. And since then the free-market commercialisation of relationships via apps like Tinder - order in a shag like sushi - seems to have made it the social norm to be gratuitously venal about relationships, in a way that feels more exploitative of young women than ever.
"It's body first, personality second," says Stephanie about the transactional nature of Tinder. "It's a contest to see who cares less, and guys win a lot at caring less," says Amanda.
This is the way we live now, apparently. At least according to Vanity Fair, where I got those quotes. I'm aware I may sound prudish and curmudgeonly. Or even more creepily, jealous and bitter of my lost youth and insouciance.
If I do, tough. Because one thing I know for certain is it's a phoney sophisticated pose to pretend you don't really hunger for intimacy and connection. That goes for blokes too. Even the young men who are gloating about their sexual conquests in the Vanity Fair article seem trapped and tragic counting up their notches in the bedhead.
"Sex has become so easy," says 26-year-old marketing executive John. "I can go on my phone right now and no doubt I can find someone I can have sex with this evening, probably before midnight."
Yeah well, hope the earth moves for you bro.
What bothers me is that young women who are still discovering who they are - in a state known as "identity diffusion" - are feeling obliged to go along with this soul-destroying meat market as if they enjoy it. One young woman told Vanity Fair's Nancy Jo Sales: "But if you say any of this out loud, it's like you're weak, you're not independent, you somehow missed the whole memo about third-wave feminism."
Girls, listen to your Aunty Deborah. You don't have to do it. How can it be that you are comfortable with having a good job, but then when it comes to relationships you are prepared to put up with no respect from men.
Going along with being treated as a dial-in pizza is not just sad and demeaning, it will kill you in your soul.
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