A woman is not only expected to cook, she's also expected to be the walking oven for nine months - baking or whatever is going on inside our stomach until we deliver Jr.
Not that we're complaining.
Then we have postpartum depression, premenstrual cramps and ten years of life-sucking peri-menopause hell before we're officially called a prune. All because we're a woman. Please don't think that we got the name "woman" - in short for "woe to man". That's simply not true. We are here to be your helpmate, to walk alongside you and be the wind beneath your wings. On a good day, I mean.
All we ask in return is that in times like these below, you simply try to understand us and remember to say the 3 magic words : "You're right dear."
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