Thursday, March 16, 2006

Why Women Are a Tad Crabby

We started to "bud" at 9 or 10 years old, 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 monthly, in our early to mid-teens (or sooner). 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, after having sex for the first time which was about as much fun as having a ramrod push your uterus through your nostrils, was 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. Go suck on a sock!


  1. Bernita said...
    Close to the bone, Bonnie.
    Men simply could not handle this stuff.
    Anonymous said...
    Oh, good grief. Gimme me a break. Women have it SOOOOOOOOOO hard.

    Yadda, Yadda, Yadda.
    Denise McDonald said...
    Then come their teen years.

    This scares me most of all!!!

    I think Ric is high on birthday cake coming in here saying that! - LOL =)
    Bonnie S. Calhoun said...
    No, Ric is still on his second glass of wine!
    WannabeMe said...
    Bonnie, I think the first book of the Bible made it VERY clear.

    Men need HELP. From women. It didn't say women needed help. Nope. It clearly stated THEY needed OUR help.

    Yeah, we're here on earth for humanitarian purposes.
    Anonymous said...
    Hey, we let you ladies pick on us. Only fair...

    Where's the wine? Cake? Did we even have cake?
    M. C. Pearson said...
    Oh this is great, Bonnie. So me right at this moment. I would love to chop off a few heads right now...and you got me to giggle. Thank you!
    keda said...
    well put. you got a couple of giggles from me and its before 10 am so thats RARE*

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