Post by JaminJim on Apr 22, 2004 11:33:08 GMT -5
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 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'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 momentarrives 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 ***** doctor (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,
slobbering, 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 early 40's while hubby
had his somewhere around his 18th birthday.
Now we hit the grand finale: "The Menopause," the
Grandmother of all womanhood. It's either take the HR.
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!
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 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'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 momentarrives 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 ***** doctor (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,
slobbering, 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 early 40's while hubby
had his somewhere around his 18th birthday.
Now we hit the grand finale: "The Menopause," the
Grandmother of all womanhood. It's either take the HR.
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!
