G
Guest
·Why Women tend to be Crabby.
We start to "bud" in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find
anything
that comes in contact with those tender, blooming buds hurts so bad it
brings us to tears. Enter the almighty, uncomfortable training bra a
contraption the boys in school will snap until we have calluses on our
backs.
Next, we get our periods in our early to mid-teens (or sooner). Along
with
those budding boobs, we now bloat, we cramp, we get the hormone
crankies,
have to wear little mattresses between our legs or insert tubular,
packed
cotton rods in places we didn't even know had.
Our next little rite of passage (premarital or not) is having sex for
the
first time which is 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 all
about.
Then it's off to Motherhood where we learn to live on dry crackers and
water
for a few months so we don't spend the entire day leaning over Brother
John.
Of course, amazing creatures that we are (and we are), we learn to
live
with the growing little angels inside us steadily kicking our innards
night
and day making us wonder if we're having Rosemary'Baby. Our once flat
bellies now look like we swallowed a watermelon whole and we pee
ourpants
every time we sneeze.
When the big moment arrives, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions will
invariably burst right in the middle of the mall and we'll waddle with
our
big cartoon feet moaning in pain all the way to the ER. Then it's huff
and
puff and beg to die while the OB says, "Please stop screaming, Mrs.
Hearmeroar. Calm down and push. Just one more (or 10 ) good push,"
warranting a strong, well-deserved impulse to punch the jerk (and
hubby)
square in the nose for making us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed 10lb.
bowling ball through a keyhole.
After that, it's time to raise those angels only to find that when all
that
"cute" wears off, the beautiful little darlings morph into walking,
jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking little poop machines.
The teen years. Need I say more? The kids are almost grown now and we
women
hit our voracious sexual prime in our mid-30's to early 40's while
hubby had
his somewhere around his 18th birthday (which just happens to be the
reason
all that
early hot man sex got you pregnant in the first place).
Now we hit the grand finale: "The Menopause," the Grandmother of all
womanhood. It's either take the 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...
Now I love being a woman but "Womanhood" would make the Great Ghandi a
tad
crabby.
Women are the "weaker sex."? Yeah right. Bite me.
We start to "bud" in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find
anything
that comes in contact with those tender, blooming buds hurts so bad it
brings us to tears. Enter the almighty, uncomfortable training bra a
contraption the boys in school will snap until we have calluses on our
backs.
Next, we get our periods in our early to mid-teens (or sooner). Along
with
those budding boobs, we now bloat, we cramp, we get the hormone
crankies,
have to wear little mattresses between our legs or insert tubular,
packed
cotton rods in places we didn't even know had.
Our next little rite of passage (premarital or not) is having sex for
the
first time which is 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 all
about.
Then it's off to Motherhood where we learn to live on dry crackers and
water
for a few months so we don't spend the entire day leaning over Brother
John.
Of course, amazing creatures that we are (and we are), we learn to
live
with the growing little angels inside us steadily kicking our innards
night
and day making us wonder if we're having Rosemary'Baby. Our once flat
bellies now look like we swallowed a watermelon whole and we pee
ourpants
every time we sneeze.
When the big moment arrives, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions will
invariably burst right in the middle of the mall and we'll waddle with
our
big cartoon feet moaning in pain all the way to the ER. Then it's huff
and
puff and beg to die while the OB says, "Please stop screaming, Mrs.
Hearmeroar. Calm down and push. Just one more (or 10 ) good push,"
warranting a strong, well-deserved impulse to punch the jerk (and
hubby)
square in the nose for making us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed 10lb.
bowling ball through a keyhole.
After that, it's time to raise those angels only to find that when all
that
"cute" wears off, the beautiful little darlings morph into walking,
jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking little poop machines.
The teen years. Need I say more? The kids are almost grown now and we
women
hit our voracious sexual prime in our mid-30's to early 40's while
hubby had
his somewhere around his 18th birthday (which just happens to be the
reason
all that
early hot man sex got you pregnant in the first place).
Now we hit the grand finale: "The Menopause," the Grandmother of all
womanhood. It's either take the 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...
Now I love being a woman but "Womanhood" would make the Great Ghandi a
tad
crabby.
Women are the "weaker sex."? Yeah right. Bite me.
