Foolish Eve

Women get screwed. We can't pee standing up. It's never funny when we fart. Going gray doesn't make us look "distinguished." And once a month we're plagued by cramps, bloating, crankiness and the tedious task of changing out a little cotton phallic symbol every three hours. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of beautiful and wonderful things about being female that I could write about. But this is my rant. I think I deserve it, considering I just got denied nookie on account of my monthly oil change.

DENIED.

As I stared into the bathroom mirror, wondering if that very word was stamped somewhere on my forehead, I realized how screwed us women are. Not only do we have to deal with the above gripes, we get made to feel personally responsible for it too. I didn't request this! If I had, I most certainly would have attached it to an "Empathy Clause." That's where any men in the vicinity of a menstruating female instantly drop to the floor with gut wrenching abdomen spasms while simultaneously craving Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey ice cream with a Chocolate Syrup chaser and bemoaning the fact that NOTHING fits anymore. Especially not anything attractive.

If men had to deal with half the things us women do, especially periods and childbirth, we'd all be extinct by now. On that note, with the possibility of jumping off the TMI cliff, I have an appointment with a little vibrating bunny. G'Nite all.