njjen3953
4th Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2001
- Messages
- 2,861
- Points
- 0
We start to "bud" in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find
anything that comes in contact with those tender, blooming buds hurts so
bad it brings us to tears. Enter the almighty, uncomfortable training bra
contraption the boys in school will snap until we have calluses on our
backs.
Next, we get our periods in our early to mid-teens (or even sooner).
Along with those budding boobs, we now bloat, we cramp, we get the hormone
crankies, have to wear little mattresses between our legs or insert
tubular,packed cotton rods in places we didn't even know we had.
Our next rite of passage (premarital or not) is having sex for the
first time which is 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
anyhow.
Then, it's off to Motherhood where we learn to live on dry crackers
and water for a few months so we don't spend the entire day leaning over
Brother John. Of course, amazing creatures that we are (and we are), we
learn to live with the growing little angels inside us steadily kicking our
innards night and day making us wonder if we're having Rosemary's Baby. Our
once flat bellies now look like we swallowed a watermelon whole, and we pee
our pants every time we sneeze.
When the big moment arrives, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions
will invariably burst right in the middle of the mall and we'll waddle with
our big cartoon feet moaning in pain all the way to the ER. Then it's huff
and puff and beg and die while the OB says, "Please stop screaming, Mrs.
Hear-me-roar. Calm down and push. Just one more (or maybe 10) good
pushes," warranting a strong, well Deserved impulse to punch the bastard
(and hubby)square in the nose for making us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed
10-lb. bowling ball through a keyhole.
After that, it's time to raise those angels only to find that when
all that "cute" wears off, the beautiful little darlings morph into
walking, jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking little poop
machines.
The teen years....need I say more? The kids are almost grown now, and we women
hit our voracious sexual prime in our mid-30s to early 40s while hubby had
his somewhere around his 18th birthday (which just happens to be the reason
all that early hot man sex got you pregnant in the first place.)
Now we hit the grand finale: "THE MENOPAUSE"...the Grandmother of
all womanhood. It's either take the 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 easily, INCLUDING the icing on life's cake: Being able
to pee in the woods without soaking their socks!
Now, I love being a woman, but "Womanhood" would make the great
Ghandi a tad crabby.
Women are the "weaker sex"? Yeah, right! Bite me!
anything that comes in contact with those tender, blooming buds hurts so
bad it brings us to tears. Enter the almighty, uncomfortable training bra
contraption the boys in school will snap until we have calluses on our
backs.
Next, we get our periods in our early to mid-teens (or even sooner).
Along with those budding boobs, we now bloat, we cramp, we get the hormone
crankies, have to wear little mattresses between our legs or insert
tubular,packed cotton rods in places we didn't even know we had.
Our next rite of passage (premarital or not) is having sex for the
first time which is 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
anyhow.
Then, it's off to Motherhood where we learn to live on dry crackers
and water for a few months so we don't spend the entire day leaning over
Brother John. Of course, amazing creatures that we are (and we are), we
learn to live with the growing little angels inside us steadily kicking our
innards night and day making us wonder if we're having Rosemary's Baby. Our
once flat bellies now look like we swallowed a watermelon whole, and we pee
our pants every time we sneeze.
When the big moment arrives, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions
will invariably burst right in the middle of the mall and we'll waddle with
our big cartoon feet moaning in pain all the way to the ER. Then it's huff
and puff and beg and die while the OB says, "Please stop screaming, Mrs.
Hear-me-roar. Calm down and push. Just one more (or maybe 10) good
pushes," warranting a strong, well Deserved impulse to punch the bastard
(and hubby)square in the nose for making us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed
10-lb. bowling ball through a keyhole.
After that, it's time to raise those angels only to find that when
all that "cute" wears off, the beautiful little darlings morph into
walking, jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking little poop
machines.
The teen years....need I say more? The kids are almost grown now, and we women
hit our voracious sexual prime in our mid-30s to early 40s while hubby had
his somewhere around his 18th birthday (which just happens to be the reason
all that early hot man sex got you pregnant in the first place.)
Now we hit the grand finale: "THE MENOPAUSE"...the Grandmother of
all womanhood. It's either take the 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 easily, INCLUDING the icing on life's cake: Being able
to pee in the woods without soaking their socks!
Now, I love being a woman, but "Womanhood" would make the great
Ghandi a tad crabby.
Women are the "weaker sex"? Yeah, right! Bite me!
