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Why Women are Crabby


BevH

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My sister sent this to me, and in the midst of everything that's going on in my life right now, I thought I'd share it... :undecided:

 

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.

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Yup, so true.

 

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.
I wonder what nature wants to tell us with that? :undecided:
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My sister sent this to me, and in the midst of everything that's going on in my life right now, I thought I'd share it...  :)

 

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.

 

 

And we still love you... :thumbsup:

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