Wednesday, August 06, 2008

Why Women Are Crabby

A friend of mine had posted this as a bulletin on MySpace. I thought it was too funny not to steal and post. Enjoy!

Why Women Are Crabby


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. Hear-me-roar. 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.

~Author Unknown
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