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 our 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 that 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 in 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.
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