Women are Fantastic

Why Women are Fantastic


Bearing in mind I am fully aware that if a man says something, when a woman isn’t listening, he is still wrong, and that there may well be some credence to the idea that we are from different planets, I still enjoy being in the presence of women. 
Do you know that split second feeling you get when you are leaning back on a chair and you very nearly tip over but just manage to catch yourself in time? That’s what it feels like in the company of women for me. 
You can never tell how it is going to go.
  
There is no mystery that in early religions the female was revered, but this was before men got their act together, when the christians and muslims took over by inventing a man god, and subjugated women to a lesser role, undeservedly subservient to men. 
I don’t think it is a coincidence that the world has been at war ever since. 
The adherents and enforcers of those religions have made great a effort over the centuries to ensure that it remains that way and although some remain firmly rooted in the stone ages a few of the cult offshoots of christianity have loosened up a bit as far as women are concerned.
  
All of that said, there is something quite magnificent about women and they have an ethereal quality that men can never attain  because women are the ones that give life. It could be what men are scared of.       


As much as I admire and respect women I wouldn’t want to be one because in the cycle of human life they get the sh!tty end of the stick.


For men it's simple, we are born pretty much intact. 
When we reach the age of 12 or 13 our goolies drop, followed quickly by our voices, then one day the blue veined custard chucker starts spitting when we rub it, and that’s us sorted for the next 60 or 70 years. Job done.


Women have to go though a far more complex metamorphosis which starts when young, because there comes a time when, although you have been running about naked in the garden since you could walk, one day your mum or dad says you have best pop on a pair of knickers. 
It is small change of attitude towards you and it probably goes by without much notice. But big changes are coming.

One day, a few years later when you are in the bath you notice something wrong with your chest as it appears to be separating and expanding into two distinct mounds. Your body is changing shape and morphing in front of your very eyes 
 “Muuuuuuummmm!!! Whats happening to me?”
“It is just part of turning into a woman darling” 


Then a little while later you cant work out why you suddenly want to burn down the house and machine gun your family and friends, this is shortly followed by acute stomach cramps, followed hot on the heels by menstrual bleeding.
“Muuuummmmm, whats happening to me?
“Its your period darling, The excruciating pain, violent and unpredictable mood swings and the mess, well that’s you once a month for the next 40 years or more. Welcome to the club”


Without your knowledge or permission you are now starting to emit a secret pheromone scent that acts as a magnet to the male species of human who’s knackers have just dropped, and you have to spend a few years fighting of the advances of young men with pants afire with desire.
   
Eventually one of them, after much fumbling about under the duvet of uncertainty, will succeed in convincing you that it would be a great idea if you let him slip you a length, which it has to be said is never quite the “Mills and Boon” moment that you dreamt it might be. 
I think it fair to say that loosing your virginity is rarely a satisfying sexual experience. It is more like a seamless wrapper on a box of your favourite chocolates that takes forever to get off, but until you can get rid of it, the goodies that lie within can’t be accessed. 


Sex often leads to pregnancy which is where a whole new level of the might of being a woman comes into its own. 
Budding breasts and the hormonal hurricane set off by the monthly menstrual cycle pale into insignificance compared with the changes that occur when you have an alien growing inside of you, demanding resources that were normally all yours. 
Slowly but surely the growing, wriggling, kicking, body inside of you begins to pull on your skin and regardless of the amount of balm and ointments you apply you are convinced you can actually hear it stretching.


With the early morning nausea, odd swellings, sudden change in taste and smells, and the new ungainly way of walking you have had to adopt, you feel anything but feminine and womanly, however there comes a time at between 6 to 8 months when  you suddenly say “ I am so so sexy, I am all woman, I am mighty sexy earth mother” as the new curves and shapes define you as the giver of live. Never before have you felt so whole as a woman. Its why you were revered as goddesses. 


Hubby or boyfriend (if any good) will have been as supportive as possible during the whole thing and learnt to say the right things about how magnificent you look, and of course he still loves you etc, but men tend to be a bit squeamish about making love to a heavily pregnant woman. 
Its not a lack of love or not fancying you or anything as ordinary and explicable as that. 
What concerns us (and I know it’s irrational and a biological impossibility) is bashing the baby on the head or worse still feeling a hand grab. 
I know I know, but it is a worry. 


Shortly after the sex goddess, earth mother stage, the waddle walk and back aches remind you of the work yet to come.


You then have the act of giving birth which I have been told can sting a bit.


It is at that moment, when you are probably at the most exhausted, mentally and physically that you have ever been, you have to begin to bond with, nurture, protect and nourish and infant. 
Some mystical hidden reserve comes to the fore and you manage this super human feat, only for a few years later to go through the second stage of a mothers pain.
This is when your child tells you that you that it no longer needs your warm, careful nurturing love and that you have become an embarrassment and that you know nothing and understand nothing. 
This occurs these days when the child is about 12. 


You will continue to provide free 5 star hotel services to your child until you have to go through the third mothers pain, the dreaded empty nest syndrome, which is the day when they flap their metaphorical wings that little bit harder and move in with the person that they have chosen to replace you with. 


It is about this time that you start finding it difficult to know what to wear when you go out as one minute you feel fine, and the next you are having hot flushes, followed by irrational mood swings, which signals the start of the menopause. 
This as far as I can tell is like a period but in reverse. 
(It should be noted at this stage that with many men, if you could convert what they know about the menstrual cycle into air pressure, they wouldn’t have enough to pump up one of the tyres.)


The menopause sometimes coincides with you starting to wear purple and buying those strange looking hand made leather shoes and felt hats or taking up bungee jumping, or in few cases looking at your partner wondering how the woman you once were with the all the  potential you had (and still have) ended up with that dullard.


But once the change is complete and you come out the other end you know you have done it. 
You have cracked it you have come the full circle in the cycle of a woman and emerged then other end, miraculously in one piece, and hopefully still sane enough to get on with enjoying the rest of your life safe in the knowledge of a job well done.


But just when you thought that it was all over and you had done your bit, nature has one more vicious trick up its sleeve for you.
A beard. 
Unwanted facial hair sprouting out all over the place leaving you to question if there no bloody end to what a woman must endure in her life before she can just relax back and enjoy it .

This is why I say that as much as enjoy your company and can only marvel at your resilience to the trials that life puts you through, you definitely get the rough end of the deal when it comes to the physicality required to be a human.
Respect.  


Cheers


Bentley