Wednesday, July 8, 2015


This was sent to me by Michele--thank you, Michele!!

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. Hear me roar. 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...

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.

And the merriment of manhood:
-- Your last name stays put.
-- The garage is all yours.
-- Wedding plans take care of themselves.
-- Chocolate is just another snack.
-- You can be President.
-- You can never be pregnant.
-- You can wear a white T-shirt to a water park. Actually, you can wear NO shirt to a water park.
-- Car mechanics tell you the truth.
-- You never have to drive to another gas station restroom because this one is just too icky.
-- Same work, more pay.
-- Wrinkles add character.
-- Wedding dress $5000. Tux rental-$100.
-- New shoes don't cut, blister, or mangle your feet.
-- One mood all the time.
-- Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat.
-- A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase.
-- You can open all your own jars.
-- You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness.
-- If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend.
-- Your underwear is $8.95 for a three-pack.
-- You almost never have strap problems in public.
-- You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes.
-- Everything on your face stays its original color.
-- The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades.
-- You only have to shave your face and neck.
-- You can play with toys all your life.
-- Your belly usually hides your big hips.
-- One wallet and one pair of shoes one color for all seasons.
-- You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look.
-- You can "do" your nails with a pocket knife.
-- You have freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache.
-- You can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives on December 24 in 25 minutes.

No wonder men are happier!

                                                 I guess men have their problems, too.
Carole sent me this example:

This morning on the Interstate
I looked over to my left and there was a
In a brand new Cadillac 
 doing 65 mph
 With her face up next to her rear view mirror
 Putting on her eyeliner.
 I looked away 
 For a couple seconds...
To continue shaving
And when I looked back, she was
Halfway over in my lane,
Still working on that makeup.
As a man,
I don't scare easily.
But she scared me so much I had to put on my seat belt.
And I dropped 
 My electric shaver,
Which knocked
  The doughnut
Out of my other hand.
 In all the confusion of trying
To straighten out the car
 Using my knees against
The steering wheel,
 It knocked
My cell phone
 Away from my ear
 Which fell
Into my coffee which was
Between my legs,
And burned
 Big Jim and the Twins.
Ruined the phone,
Soaked my trousers,
And disconnected an
Important call.

Middle age is when broadness of the mind and narrowness of the waist change places----fishducky