Why women are 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
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 we 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
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 the
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's Baby. Our once flat bellies
now look like we swallowed a watermelon whole and we pee our pants 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 bastard (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 Gandhi a tad crabby.
Women are the "weaker sex"? Yeah right. Bite me.
~ unknown, but definitely female.
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
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 we 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
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 the
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's Baby. Our once flat bellies
now look like we swallowed a watermelon whole and we pee our pants 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 bastard (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 Gandhi a tad crabby.
Women are the "weaker sex"? Yeah right. Bite me.
~ unknown, but definitely female.
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