Why Women Are Crabby
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By:
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SweetRobin
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Mood:
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happy
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Date:
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11/27/2007 22:39:40
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Music:
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None
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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 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 whole watermelon 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 theOB ? 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
%$#*@*#!* hubby and
doctor square in the nose for making us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed 10
pound 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. You think women
are the 'weaker sex?' Yeah right. Bite me.
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