(written by a woman?)
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 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 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 on life's cake:
Being able to
pee in the woods
without soaking their socks...
Image of man peeing removed lol
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 the
women you know
so they can
get a kick out of it
Copy, Paste, Spacebar, Post, Done
Copyright © CrazyKens.com