Are you sure you want boys to be held as accountable as girls? When will you feminists realize that not everything is a grand scheme to oppress women? When will you realize that men actually are worse off than are women in many channels of society? “Boys will be accountable,” oooh how radical! -_- Men on average are held more accountable for their actions than are women, in the courtroom and out. Hey feminists, your femaleprivilege is showing.
I can do whatever I want today. Play ball with my friends, pull down every planet in our solar system, whatever. Boys will be boys, kids will do things you’ll never understand. At least it’s not more spilt milk or $5 Greek yogurt; dear god, I didn’t cry.
I love genuinely innocent “boys will be boys.” Just saw a guy come out of a frat house to poke a pair of jeans they’d left outside - they were frozen solid, and as soon as he confirmed that, like twenty more boys came rushing out of the house going “YOOOOOOOOOO”
I heard grunting outside my window the other night and there were four boys struggling to push this giant snowball (like 7 foot diameter) down the sidewalk.
I once lost my keys at a frat house.
My drunk ass had actually walked home without them, pounded on my apartment door, gotten let in by my rightfully-disgruntled roommate, and proceeded to pass out on the couch. Apparently I puked in the toilet before passing out. I do not remember this part.
The next morning, I schlepped back to the frat house. I stood there, right in front of the front door. This was a novel experience for me. I’d never been at a frat house in broad daylight before.
A boy, presumably, of the house, asked me what I was doing.
“I lost my keys in here last night,” I called back. “I was seeing if I could go in and look for them?”
He opened the door and gestured for me to come in.
“Go wherever you want.”
I’d never seen a frat house post-party before. Wandering up the stairs and through the halls, I was surrounded by hungover and still-drunk frat boys stumbling around in their socks and sandals and gym shorts, seeking out food and showers like moths to a porch light. A few of them threw puzzled glances my way. I’m sure they thought I was some post-bacchanalia hallucination.
I entered one room where a boy was drunkenly watching some Old Yeller-esque movie on a tiny TV in the corner of his room from his bed.
“Do you like dog movies?” he asked, voice all mumbly from grogginess and also from the fact that his face was squished against his pillow and half-buried by his blanket.
I told him I did.
He mumbled again, pleased, and asked what I was doing. I told him I was looking for my keys.
“Sorry, I haven’t seen any keys around here.”
I didn’t doubt him.
Twenty minutes had passed. I’d searched just about every bedroom and nuclear-waste-dump-site of a bathroom in that house. I’d given up on ever finding my keys and was prepared to beg my roommates’ forgiveness and get a new set copied.
As I stood there in the hallway, silently bewailing my predicament, a particularly-burly frat boy approached me.
“You need help with something?”
“I lost my keys here last night and I can’t find them, I’ve looked everywhere.”
“What do they look like? I’ll put it into the group chat.” He was already pulling out his phone.
No one ever checks a group chat, I thought, but what the hell. It was worth a shot. “Um, it’s just a ring of keys. The keychain is a pink plastic cat, though, like yea big. Like bright pink, you can’t miss it.”
He nodded, presumably typing this description faithfully into the group chat.
“Alright, I sent the message out. Good luck.”
And with that, he turned and left.
A few moments later, I heard a distant thundering. It was coming from upstairs, and it was getting louder and louder. One assumes that how I felt in that moment was how Simba felt seeing the wildebeest stampede through the ravine as a horde of large young men all thundered down the stairs, making a beeling for me.
“Someone tell the girl!” One of them shouted, faceless in the mob. “Girl! Hey, GIRL!!! We found your keys, girl!!!”
They circled around me. I hadn’t felt that small since I was maybe eleven years old. One of them split himself off from the crowd.
“Arethese -” he pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket, “your keys?”
And lo, there was the distinctive bright millennial pink cat keychain dangling off the ring.
“Yes,”I whispered. “Oh my god, yes.”
“EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!”
The cheer went up.
Turns out he found them in the bathroom upstairs. I thanked them again profusely. There was a scattered round of “no problems” and then, just as suddenly as they descended, they all dispersed, like ships in the night.
THIS is boys will be boys
on a camp with teenage boys recently and as i was one of the camp leaders, it was part of my duties to help wake said boys in the morning (at 6am or a similar ungodly hour).
we (the camp leaders) found the most efficient way to do so was to blast music from a tinny little speaker one of us owned.
so before the sun itself has risen, we’re walking down a corridor with 8+ rooms filled with 6 or more boys in each, blasting the one and only Let It Go from Frozen, hoping to wake a few students, preparing for hateful commentary.
instead, what we got was the thumps and shouts of boys excitedly leaping from bunk beds, stuffing on shirts and bursting into the corridor to scream the lyrics to Let It Go.
every.single.boy.did this.
as soon as the song finished, they acted like it never happened and went back to their rooms to get dressed.
you will all be pleased to learn that provided with the zero-gravity environment of scuba diving, it is not uncommon to turn around to see 3 or 4 teenage boys t-posing mid water column
Young men and boys! Please reclaim ‘boys will be boys’ by doing chaotic good things, having good clean fun, and engaging in benevolent bro culture.
I was just in the store picking up some much needed salt and post workout when an employee speaking with a mother and three little girls said something about them needing a big brother to protect them from all the boys.
I waited until the mother and girls were out of earshot then told the woman that boys are not dangerous and don’t need to be protected against, but her telling those girls they need a man (brother) to protect them from other men (or boys) instilled fear in them which probably didn’t exist before and made them all, mother included, go quiet as they pondered what a seemingly wise elderly woman told them about needing men to fight men. No management was needed to correct the problem, I could see in her eyes that she knew what she’d done. She apologized to me, I wish she would’ve done so to the children and their mother.
Problem solved. Nobody needed firing, nobody needed to feel bad, nobody needed to get upset. Interpersonal conflicts can often be solved quietly and have a much better chance of helping two people to grow if one of them isn’t trying to destroy the life of someone they took offense from.
It may make you feel momentarily good about yourself while you’re doing it, but destroying someone’s life because you disagree with them makes you a bad person. Doxxing, SWATing, workplace harassment, suicide baiting, death threats, threats of any harm, all things bad people do.
