Get Your Sense of
"Ha Ha" on!
Did you know
that Coca-cola
was originally
green?
®
Did you know that the
average person is about
a quarter of an inch
taller at night?
Did you know
that Tigers skin
is striped, not
just their fur?
Did you know
that 90% of bird
species are
monogamous?
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can! Nothing makes
me happier than being
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Did you know that
Hitler and Napoleon
were both missing
one testicle ?
Did you know
that there are
fewer people in
Los Angeles
than there are
automobiles?
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. Women are the "weaker sex"?
Yeah right. Bite me.

What else can we do but laugh about it???

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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 (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 (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 watermelon whole and we peed 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 %*#!* (and hubby) square in
the nose for making us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed 10lb 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?