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 b oys 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 h is 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 u s 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 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
%$#*@*#!* 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 o n 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.
Send this to seven bright women you know
and make their day!!! Or at least make
them laugh a little.....
GOOD FRIENDS ARE THE RARE JEWELS OF
LIFE...
DIFFICULT TO FIND AND IMPOSSIBLE TO
REPLACE!
There were pictures.. but.....I don't know
how to do it.. plus.. it might take
longer.. I hope this made someone smile
