AngelsKiss
April 8, 2005, 10:44 AM
We started to "bud" into our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find
out 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, 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 had 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 OB and hubby square in the face for making us cram a
wiggling, mushroom-headed 10 lb 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 and
is now all but null and void.
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,
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.
The Seven Dwarfs of Menopause
Itchy, B!tchy, Sweaty, Sleepy, Bloated, Forgetful and Psycho
out 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, 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 had 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 OB and hubby square in the face for making us cram a
wiggling, mushroom-headed 10 lb 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 and
is now all but null and void.
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,
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.
The Seven Dwarfs of Menopause
Itchy, B!tchy, Sweaty, Sleepy, Bloated, Forgetful and Psycho