You’ve had vast amounts of sex—weekends upon weekends of bed-swapping that began on Thursday nights. There is not a single bed, couch, lab counter, library desk, football end zone, university founder’s statue, Henry Moore sculpture or monkey research cage on top of which you, the outstanding class of 2013, haven’t copulated.

And you young straight men, in particular, have had amazing advantages. This school, like every other liberal arts institution today, is 60% women. Factor in a gay population of 8% to 10%, and the odds were massively, groaningly in your favor.

In my day, the male/female ratio was 50-50. Sadly, it was decades before women saw “The Social Network” and realized that by inviting the awkward kid next to them at the cafeteria’s gluten-free station to bed, they could get in on the ground floor of a Zuckerberg or even a Winklevoss.

We didn’t have a hookup culture. We had a dating culture. And even that was a culture I was on the periphery of, much like Jane Goodall watching chimpanzees through binoculars—hopeful that the chimps would invite her over but more terrified that they would rip her face off.