forwarded from a friend.
AT LAST THE ANSWER TO:
WHY WOMAN 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 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 ******* (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.
EXACTLY![/size=3]
AT LAST THE ANSWER TO:
WHY WOMAN 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 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 ******* (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.
EXACTLY![/size=3]
