My Jacked Up Life

The annual smashing of the boobies is over. It wasn’t as bad as last year because they have a new machine that’s a little more ‘user friendly’. But I still had a craving for pancakes afterwards.

I got to thinking about how tough it is to be a woman. The list is a mile long. We’ve already discussed the joy’s of the mammogram but I think we should start at the beginning.

When girls are about twelve (or at least I was, it’s seems to be much earlier now) they wake up one moring with these little buds under their nipples and they hurt like hell. You’re proud to say that you’ve gotten your boobs but really, it’s just the foundation of what’s to come. To properly show them off you start wearing your little sisters shirts so your new found boobs can be seen. Otherwise, there’s no way anyone will notice the tiny little things. Those stupid training bras keep riding up because your ‘bud’s’ aren’t enough to hold that sucker down. At least not yet, if your lucky.

Next, comes the hair in new places. All of a sudden the hair on your legs grows in black. Your mom still thinks you’re too young to start shaving, so when you wear your white knee socks with your school uniform, you can see hair smashed underneath. You pray to God that the stupid boy’s in your class don’t notice that the hair actually comes through the socks on occasion. You learn not to raise your hand in class because the hair in your armpit’s looks like you are trying to hide a small poodle under there. But the best part of all is the small poodle you are now hiding in your underwear. When that shit starts coming in it itches like hell and you have to start coming up with creative way’s to scratch just short of sticking your hand down your pants.

Let’s not forget the day you go the bathroom and find a little surprize that poodle left you. Shit. History dictates that you have to call your mother into the bathroom to share this passage into womanhood. Mom teaches you how to place a queen sized pillow between your legs and then expects you to walk around like there’s nothing there. (At this point in my life we didn’t have all that ‘ultra-thin’ crap.) And of course, all of her girlfriends and a few of your aunts know of your new womanhood in less than two hours.

So…. it feels like a queen sized pillow but it sounds like a diaper. At times you can actually hear it rustling around in your pants. You begin to walk like you can’t bend your legs because you are trying to cause as  little movement as possible. Imagine someone walking along trying to hold in a really big fart. Get the picture? Great.

Another learned skill here is the proper placement of the pillow. If you don’t get all of the sticky part facing completely down on you underpants, it grabs a hold of the poodle and rips it out when you drop your pants to go to the bathroom. OUCH!!!! The first time you make a trip to the store to buy your own pillows, you make a beeline for the insertable ones. Screw that sticky shit.  

When you’re in your late teens you have your first pelvic exam. They give you this paper dress that tears everytime you move, thus exposing more than you already are. Panic sets in when the stirups are whipped out. Now it’s time to put all your girly bits on display. If that wasn’t bad enough, the doctor will shine a floodlight on you because he’s blind and can’t see what’s right in front on his face. His poor wife.

When my girlfriend’s and I began this part of our womanhood, one of our dad’s (not mine) offered fifty bucks to the first one of us who farted during this part of the exam. I am proud to say that none of us ever collected on this offer. But now, I have a fear of accidently squeaking one off during my yearly exam. I wonder if this happens often and what do you say if it does? ‘Excuse me’ just dosen’t seem to cover it.

The highlight of your womanhood is childbirth. About every hour someone comes in to stick their hand up your hoo-hoo to root around for a bit. After a couple of hours of this, you automatically throw the cover’s back and spread em’ when you hear the door open. Once, I scared the shit out of a janitor. My bad.

 One thing that you pray doesn’t happen is that you pinch off a turd while you’re pushing. It happens. Fortunately, I didn’t. TMI? Sorry.

That brings us to the mammograms. We’ve already been over that. As for the rest of it….I haven’t gotten there yet but I’ll let you know when I do. My guess is that it doesn’t get any better from here.