(no subject)
Why Women Are Crabby-
We started to "bud" in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find
that anything that came in contact with those tender, blooming buds
>hurt so bad it brought us to tears. So came the ridiculously
uncomfortable training bra contraption that the boys in school would
snap until we had calluses on our backs.
Next, we get
ur periods in our early to mid-teens (or sooner).
Along with those budding boobs, we bloated, we cramped, we got the
hormone crankies, had to wear little mattresses between our legs or
>insert tubular, packed cotton rods in places we didn't even know we
had.
Our next little rite of passage (premarital or not) was having sex
for the first time which was about as much fun as having a ramrod
push your uterus through your nostrils (IF he did it right and
didn't end up with his little cart before his horse), leaving us to
wonder what all the fuss was about.
Then it' was off to Motherhood where we learned to live on dry
crackers and water for a few months so we didn't spend the entire
day leaning over Brother John. Of course, amazing creatures
hat we
are (and we are), we learned to live with the growing little angels
inside us steadily kicking our innards night and day making us
wonder if we were preparing to have Rosemary's Baby.
Our once flat bellies looked like we swallowed a watermelon whole
and we pee'd our pants every time we sneezed. When the big moment
arrived, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions invariably burst
>right in the middle of the mall and we had to waddle, with our big
cartoon feet, moaning in pain all the way to the ER.
Then it was huff and puff and beg to die while the OB says, "Please
stop screaming, Mrs. Hearmeroar. Calm down and push. Just one more
good push (more like 10)," warranting a strong, well-deserved
impulse to punch the %*#!* (and hubby) square
n the nose for making
us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed 10lb bowling ball through a
keyhole.
After that, it was time to raise those angels only to find that when
all that "cute" wears off, the beautiful little darlings morphed
into walking, jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking
little poop machines.
Then come their "Teen Years." Need I say more?
When the kids are almost grown, we women hit our voracious sexual
prime in our early 40's - while hubby had his somewhere around his
18th birthday.
So we progress into the grand finale: "The Menopause," the
Grandmother of all womanhood. It's either take HRT and chance cancer
in those now seasoned "buds" or the aforementioned Nether
Regions,
or, sweat like a hog in July, wash your sheets and pillowcases daily
and bite the head off anything that moves.
Now, you ask WHY women seem to be more spiteful than men, when men
get off so easy, INCLUDING the icing on life's cake: Being able to
pee in the woods without soaking their socks...
So, while I love being a woman, "Womanhood" would make the Great
Gandhi a tad crabby. Women are the "weaker sex"? Yeah right. Bite
me.
We started to "bud" in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find
that anything that came in contact with those tender, blooming buds
>hurt so bad it brought us to tears. So came the ridiculously
uncomfortable training bra contraption that the boys in school would
snap until we had calluses on our backs.
Next, we get
ur periods in our early to mid-teens (or sooner).
Along with those budding boobs, we bloated, we cramped, we got the
hormone crankies, had to wear little mattresses between our legs or
>insert tubular, packed cotton rods in places we didn't even know we
had.
Our next little rite of passage (premarital or not) was having sex
for the first time which was about as much fun as having a ramrod
push your uterus through your nostrils (IF he did it right and
didn't end up with his little cart before his horse), leaving us to
wonder what all the fuss was about.
Then it' was off to Motherhood where we learned to live on dry
crackers and water for a few months so we didn't spend the entire
day leaning over Brother John. Of course, amazing creatures
hat we
are (and we are), we learned to live with the growing little angels
inside us steadily kicking our innards night and day making us
wonder if we were preparing to have Rosemary's Baby.
Our once flat bellies looked like we swallowed a watermelon whole
and we pee'd our pants every time we sneezed. When the big moment
arrived, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions invariably burst
>right in the middle of the mall and we had to waddle, with our big
cartoon feet, moaning in pain all the way to the ER.
Then it was huff and puff and beg to die while the OB says, "Please
stop screaming, Mrs. Hearmeroar. Calm down and push. Just one more
good push (more like 10)," warranting a strong, well-deserved
impulse to punch the %*#!* (and hubby) square
n the nose for making
us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed 10lb bowling ball through a
keyhole.
After that, it was time to raise those angels only to find that when
all that "cute" wears off, the beautiful little darlings morphed
into walking, jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking
little poop machines.
Then come their "Teen Years." Need I say more?
When the kids are almost grown, we women hit our voracious sexual
prime in our early 40's - while hubby had his somewhere around his
18th birthday.
So we progress into the grand finale: "The Menopause," the
Grandmother of all womanhood. It's either take HRT and chance cancer
in those now seasoned "buds" or the aforementioned Nether
Regions,
or, sweat like a hog in July, wash your sheets and pillowcases daily
and bite the head off anything that moves.
Now, you ask WHY women seem to be more spiteful than men, when men
get off so easy, INCLUDING the icing on life's cake: Being able to
pee in the woods without soaking their socks...
So, while I love being a woman, "Womanhood" would make the Great
Gandhi a tad crabby. Women are the "weaker sex"? Yeah right. Bite
me.