Hi, Folks
I received that in an e-mail.
"Why Women Are Cranky" ...written by a woman
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 everytime 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 10 lb. 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.
I received that in an e-mail.
"Why Women Are Cranky" ...written by a woman
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 everytime 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 10 lb. 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.