I have always daydreamed about going to a Frat Party™. I'd get all dressed up (a jaw dropping, flawless image that is only ever attainable in daydreams) and arrive with all of my gorgeous friends. We'd positively strut in (think slow motion Beyoncé. That's right, we'd be at that level).

After this, less conventional images pop in.

Some overly cocky, obnoxious boy would be trying to impress us, give us drinks, etc., etc., and all of a sudden he'd say something really, really sexist.

Like, "Well, I kind of think rape should be legal," or, "Women are actually just stupider than men. It's science," or "I'm so glad that we don't have that bitch in office."

And I, in all my gorgeous, feminine glory would take a deep breath and utterly destroy him. I won't put the full dialogue here because it'd be really enraged and extensive and you just don't have that kind of time on your hands. You're a busy person.

But, believe me, I'd just be burning with righteous anger. Slowly, a circle would form until the entire party is watching this boy learn some serious lessons about living as a decent human being. Maybe I'd even get right up in his face, push him backward a little. And then, with a final, scathing remark, I would turn on my heel and storm out the door with a stream of fantastic, strong women behind me. We'd return to our respective schools after vowing to boycott until a proper apology is issued (I understand this is a stretch but hey: daydream).

Back at the Frat™ the sexist bro would be getting ripped to shreds by all of his pissed off brothers who now have a lot of beer and absolutely no girls, which, "defeats the purpose of the party, Brad." (I feel like the sexist bro's name is Brad. I'm sorry to the perfectly decent Brads out there, but it just feels right.)

But, of course, that's never going to happen.

Not because there will never be a party where I hear a guy make a remark like that. But because there will never be a time where I'm at a party and I feel safe enough to confront a guy about his misogyny.

I'm hardly a wilting wallflower when it comes to expressing my opinions. But speaking up about being treated equally (in forms of equality other than voting and working) always, always causes a violent backlash in that environment. Maybe it's a loud guffaw paired with the ever-infuriating, "Sure, sweetheart," or a none too gentle, "F*** off, triggered b****," but it's never been fruitful to try to tell a man that what he's saying makes me uncomfortable.

And I hate it. I understand he's feeling defensive. He forgot that women are people too; he has that luxury. But he's making it so that I'm day dreaming about attacking him verbally, something I avoid doing day to day.

Do you know what life would be like if all men actively tried to avoid disagreeing? Really f***ing quiet.

But that's not the point. The point is that every time I yell back at a cat caller or refuse a date or a dance, I take five seconds to panic about whether or not I'll get murdered later. Because, no matter what the world would like to believe, it's a reasonable fear. Hell, if you want, Google "woman murdered for rejecting man" and you'll get about 18,700,000 results. If you look up "man murdered for rejecting woman" you get the same results about assaults on women by men. Because a woman murdering a man for refusing to date her is incredibly rare.

"Sometimes I'm afraid to be a woman. And I hate that."

There were about four us all discussing the fact that every single college campus has a rape rate. And one of my friends, sighing wistfully, said this.

It grates. To be in inherently endangered because of your gender. To carry your keys between your fingers on your way to your car, to check your mace every time you leave the house, to share your Uber ride with friends in case you get abducted, and to base your shoe choice on how well you can run across cracked pavement in them. To know that not doing these things means that a rapist can say you wanted it. That trying to live as if you weren't in danger only puts you in only more danger.

And then having to see that violence your fear so casually perpetuated in the words around you. Listening as your body and mind are deemed as inferior, your fears dismissed as irrelevant because there are some men out there who wouldn't rape you if you passed out at this party.

Well, guess what, Brad: I'm not counting on every guy being so super duper nice like you, you flawless Saint of a man. So, no, I'm not going to drink from the solo cup you handed me.

And when you get offended because how dare I even think that you would want to rape me, just know that I really, really want to get angry. But I won't. Because then you might really try to assault me. And, tonight, I'm in a pretty short dress. I might get told I was asking for it.

I'm angry about being scared.

I'm tired of being angry.

I'm done with proving the facts of my life to the people who endanger it. I'm sick of making them disgruntled and defensive.

I dream of being angry and not being degraded for it. I dream of my anger not being misconstrued as an attack because, dammit, my fear is not about you, Brad.

I wish I lived in a world where 'college essentials' didn't include the Revolar button my grandmother gave me, which will text up to five emergency contacts if I press it twice. I wish the button didn't have to be 'small and unobtrusive' to keep from offending the people that necessitated its design.

And the thing is, I cannot afford to be paralyzed by fear. If I were to avoid every activity, every place that was statistically dangerous to a woman, I wouldn't have enrolled in college.

You know what the worst part is? I'm a white, well off, able-bodied, straight, cis-gendered woman living in America.

And I'm scared anyway.