Why Women 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
usto 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 is having sex for the first time which is about
as much fun as having a ramrod push your uterus through your nostrils, leaving
us to wonder what all the fuss was about.
Then it's off to Motherhood where we learn to live on dry cra! ckers 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. Hear-me-roar. Calm down and push. Just one more (or 10 ) good
pushes," warranting a strong, well-deserved impulse to punch the jerk (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. Then 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.
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 Gandhi a tad
crabby. Women are the "weaker sex?" Yeah right. Bite me..
