Why Women Get Cranky
start to "bud" in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find that 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.
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, we have
to wear little mattresses between our legs or insert tubular, packed cotton
rods in places we didn't even know we had.
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.
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.
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.
Hear-me-roar. Calm down and push", thus 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.
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).
At last 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
At last 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 even the Great Gandhi a
Women are the
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