Why Women Are Crabby

This was an email that was forwarded to me and I thought it was so funny, I had to share with all my misbehaved bloggy friends!

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...

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!