Why Women Are Crabby 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're bloated, we're cramped, 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 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 face 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! Send this to seven bright women you know and make their day!!! Or at least make them laugh a little! Send it to the men you know too ~ clue them in a little!
Okay, sooo... If pregnancy & birthing is "oh so hard", why do most women do it more than once? Hmmm? Please resist the urge to want to hunt me down - there are laws you know! And besides, your car may break down & it would cost you sooo much more than, say myself, to fix, it just wouldn't be worth it! (Just kiddin'...honest...please don't hunt me down!)
Because just like eating a hot fudge sundae, the pain comes AFTER the pleasure! If Nature hadn't planned it that way, there would be NO continuation of the species....
Ever tried to use our bathrooms? Now all you guys can finally learn why the womens restroom line is always so (*)(*)(*)(*) long! When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once its your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in, to find the door wont latch. It doesnt matter the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants. The dispenser for the modern seat covers; no doubt invented by someones mom, is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isnt. So you carefully, but quickly, drape it around your neck (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the floor); yank down your pants, and assume The Stance. In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. Youd love to sit down, but you certainly hadnt had the time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold The Stance. To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind you can hear your mothers voice saying Honey, if youd tried to clean the seat, you would have known there was no toilet paper! Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday the one thats still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That will have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible; its still smaller than our thumbnail. Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesnt work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. Occupied! you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet, of course. You bolt up; know all too well that its too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered sweat because you never laid down toilet paper that that there was any, even if you had taken the time to try. You know your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, frankly dear, You just dont know what kind of diseases you could get. By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At this point, you give up. Youre soaked by the spewing water and wet toilet seat. Youre exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You cant figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of waiting women, You are no longer able to smile politely at them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe (where was that when you needed it?). You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the womans hand and tell her warmly; Here, you just might need this. As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used, and left the mens room. Annoyed he asks, What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?
and don't even get me started on bras and makeup... Who came up with the idea of putting a hard WIRE around the softest part of our bodies? and any movement drives the sharp ends into either your cleavage or your underarm.. and make up...it costs a fortune, takes forever to get right and as soon as you walk outside in this weather (100 +) and it all melts and runs down off your face...not to mention that you can't touch your face for fear of screwing it up..and God forbid something gets in your eye when you have mascara on...
From my career as a janitor, I had always wondered about the footprints on the toilet seats in the women's bathrooms! I mentioned that to a girlfriend (when I was in my 40's!) who enlightened me that some women stand on the toilet seat and squat to pee to avoid the seat contamination! However, modern technology comes to the rescue with ta-daaa - a funnel! Some with an anatomically correct shape! Do a Google search for "pee funnel" or "shenis"! Get the freedom men have enjoyed since the beginning of time! Those weird things on the toilet seat need never bother you again!
I have no idea why women are crabby. I just needed to take a break from the World News part of the forum. As all the world news has to do with jewish isrealies being victims and how they are being slaughtered by the hamass. Perhaps that is why women are crabby, because the isreals are such victims and they all fear a holocaust or the Texas chainsaw boogie man will move to isreal and drop turds on them. Anyway, I got some good insight on why women are crabby. Most of it has nothing to do with cognition, more like a subcortal function that has viseral outcomes.
