Lulu
12-27-2004, 04:01 PM
Got this in an email this morning :p
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.
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.