Things Women Relate To..

[Judy Harder]

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 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 theOB ? 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...
I think this pretty much covers the issue.

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.

[Teresa]

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually
find a line of women, so you smile politely and take
your place. Once it's 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 won't latch. It doesn't
matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet
your pants! The dispenser for the modern "seat covers"
(invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but
empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if
there was one, but there isn't - 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. You'd love to sit down, but you
certainly hadn't taken 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 mother's
voice saying, "Honey, if you had 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 that's 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 would have to do. You crumple it in the
puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes your door open because the latch
doesn't 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, knowing all
too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made
contact with every imaginable germ and life form on
the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet
paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken
time to try. You know that your mother would be
utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain
her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat
because, frankly, dear, "You just don't 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 that sprays 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.

You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat.
You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you
found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

You can't 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 women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to 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 woman's 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 men's restroom. Annoyed,
he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your
purse hanging around your neck?"


This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a
public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!).

It finally explains to the men what really does take
us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked
questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs.

It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto
your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door!

[Diane Amberg]

 How true! I always carry extra tissues and alcohol hand wipes. I've even learned how to fold paper from my little notebook make a door without a lock stay shut. After many years of traveling, I am wise in ways of rest rooms and have seen it all! .
I did have a glorious victory when Al and I supervised the building of our Newark Charter Schools (elementary and middle schools.)  We built plenty of adult bathrooms. They sit together in pairs.  One is a ladies room only and one is both men's or women's!  No men's only bathrooms!  The few men don't mind and the vast majority, who are female of course, are thrilled.  The elementary school has kid's bathrooms in their classrooms, and every room in both buildings has a water fountain and a sink. They don't have a cafeteria, they eat in their rooms. The teachers have plenty of time to teach proper hygiene and deportment.....you remember deportment?

[sixdogsmom]

The worst bathroom experience I ever had was at a filling station years ago. Remeber those little bathrooms with a key attatched to a two by four sized piece of plastic? Well, I needed to use the bathroom, and had unlocked the door and was about to reach in to turn on the light when some little something in the back of my mind said that I should not stick my hand in there where I couldn't see. I decided to open the door all the way and have a look. Was I ever glad I listened to my guardian angel, as the lightswitch was covered with a large ball of yellow jackets! It scared me so bad, I forgot all about needing the bathroom. I just ran half hysterical back to the attendant. He thought I was crazy when I told him about the wasps. Hubby was not happy when I made him take me somewhere else. I hope that attendant found out the hard way that I knew a yellow jacket when I saw one. I have never tried to switch on a light in a strange place without looking again. And yes, I always have plenty of kleenex and hand sanitizer on board! I wish more bathrooms had that old fashioned green soap like what we had in school. I always thought that smelled so clean.

[Teresa]

Can't really go into much detail here on a public forum... but I will tell you that I had a traumatic visit to a gas staion bathroom... My daughter in laws laugh their heads off every time we pass the place now.. but I certainly don't.
But this thread sure reminded me that anything can happen in a public bathroom..
Wish I could go into detail.. but I just can't.. but I can say it was AWFUL!