On unmanning male heroes; on the sly malice of the activist class; on chronic tardiness as a progressive credential; and when a bewigged pervert takes an interest in the panties of schoolgirls, and progressive women rush to his defence.
On unmanning male heroes; on the sly malice of the activist class; on chronic tardiness as a progressive credential; and when a bewigged pervert takes an interest in the panties of schoolgirls, and progressive women rush to his defence.
I’m waiting for a news story where a group of girls surrounds one of these creeps and leaves him bleeding in the showers.
I recall the glitter throwing with the “I’m not touching them” bit.
Me? I’d return the favor by throwing an 12-oz ballpeen hammer between his eyes. Hey, I’m not touching him and I’m all out of glitter.
It’s only fair, right? I’m not touching him.
Very much back in the day, our offsprings spent a fair bit of the summer in swimming classes. There was always the problem in the girls’/women’s changeroom when the preschoolers were there for the “Mum and Tots” classes and the mums – for obvious reasons – used the female changeroom. Most mums kept their male kids close, but do remember seeing one three-year-old strutting around like a sultan while a young teen-aged girl was cowering under a towel (there weren’t nearly enough stalls) in a corner trying to dress.
However, that’s not the issue I remember most. Classes were – of course – mixed but, generally speaking, children from about five up (as in not in Mum and Tot classes) went to the proper changerooms and dressed themselves. However, there was a mother (European accent) who insisted on her son coming into the female area where she would supervise his showering and changing amidst girls of all ages. The rest of us were stunned but silent, until one brave mother loudly and bluntly told the woman that her son did NOT belong in the female changeroom and she was NEVER to bring him in again. Don’t think that we openly cheered, but that boy wasn’t seen again in that changeroom.