Meredith Grey had me at “I’m kinda screwed” (“A Hard Day’s Night,” 1-1).

When I heard those words, I felt a little bit as if I’d found a soul mate. I watched Meredith get up and cast around for her clothes and I felt for her. I don’t know how many times I’ve woken up and felt that from the moment I opened my eyes that day, the odds were stacked against me. Like Meredith, who still struggled into that shirt and pants and tried to shoo that guy out the door, I still got up and faced whatever it was in front of me. So when she said she was kinda screwed, I got it. From that first breathy narration, I was rooting for Meredith. I felt totally connected to her. She was my kind of woman. She was strong and determined, a little bit vulnerable and . . .

. . . a little bit slutty. Yeah. That’s what I said. Slutty. There was that guy, the dreamy one whose name she couldn’t quite remember, from whom she’d clearly gotten what she needed and whom she now wanted out out out by the time she’d finished showering.

I can so relate.

I don’t want to defend the excesses of the late seventies and early eighties, but the fact that sex couldn’t actually kill you back then created a really different attitude toward it than is out there now. Being a little bit slutty back then wasn’t so dangerous,  …