I was at Jem and Gem's party on Saturday night and I was talking to this person who happened to be a girl. Win. She asked me what book I was currently reading. I said "I'm reading one about the sexualisation of young girls." (It's called Getting Real: Challenging the Sexualisation of Girls in case you're wondering.)

She replied "Oh by Melinda Tankard Reist?"

I said "Yeah I'm really enjoying it."

And then we talked about how good the book is. And I'm feeling like this girl was probably way impressed because I'm reading a book that's full of essays all about not turning women into sex objects and not letting young girls get caught up in our society's raunch culture. I'm pretty sure I'm scoring points for both intellect and feminism.

Then a little while later, high on the success of this last exchange, I start talking to her friend who happens to also be a girl, plus Irish. Double Win.

We get onto the subject of awkward train conversations. I begin telling the Irish girl a story about a man who started talking to me on the train that day about the book I was reading.

"What book were you reading?" She asks.

I reply, happily, "It's called, Getting Real: The Sexualisation of Young Girls"

She looks at me funny then says "...and I'm changing carriages right about now."

Oh dear, something's gone horribly wrong.

It's at that point that I realise that when the person you're talking to doesn't know the book you're talking about, and when you get the title wrong and say the book is called "The Sexualisation of Young Girls" as opposed to "Challenging the Sexualisation of Girls", it's not a win for intellect and sensitive feminism, it's a win for creepy guy at the party. Bugger.

No matter how hard I tried after that, I think she always just thought I was freak.

Next time, best just to say you're reading Dan Brown.