THE PERFECT DRESS

Ladies - let us hope we are always as smart as this mother of the bride

Jennifer's wedding day was fast approaching. Nothing could dampen her excitement -- not even her parents' nasty divorce. Her mother had found the PERFECT dress to wear and would be the best-dressed mother-of-the-bride ever! A week later, Jennifer was horrified to learn that her father's new young wife had bought the exact same dress! Jennifer asked her to exchange it, but she refused. "Absolutely not. I look like a million bucks in this dress, and I'm wearing it,” she replied.

Jennifer told her mother who graciously said, "Never mind sweetheart. I'll get another dress. After all, it's your special day."A few days later, they went shopping and did find another gorgeous dress. When they stopped for lunch, Jennifer asked her mother, "Are you going to return the other dress? You really don't have another occasion where you could wear it."

Sheila just smiled and replied, "Of course I do, dear. I'm wearing it to the rehearsal dinner!"

Now, I ask you - What woman wouldn't love this story!

WOMEN’S SUFFERAGE


VOTING

A short history lesson on the privilege of voting.The women were innocent and defenseless. And by the end of the night, they were barely alive. Forty prison guards wielding clubs and their warden's blessing went on a rampage against the 33 women wrongly convicted of "obstructing sidewalk traffic." They beat Lucy Burn, chained her hands to the cell bars above her head and left her hanging for the night, bleeding and gasping for air. They hurled Dora Lewis into a dark cell, smashed her head against an iron bed and knocked her out cold. Her cellmate, Alice Cosu, thought Lewis was dead and suffered a heart attack. Additional affidavits describe the guards grabbing, dragging, beating, choking, slamming, pinching, twisting and kicking the women. Thus unfolded the "Night of Terror" on Nov. 15, 1917, when the warden at the Occoquan Workhouse in Virginia ordered his guards to teach a lesson to the suffragists imprisoned there because they dared to picket Woodrow Wilson's White House for the right to vote. For weeks, the women's only water came from an open pail. Their food—all of it colorless slop--was infested with worms. When one of the leaders, Alice Paul, embarked on a hunger strike, they tied her to a chair, forced a tube down her throat and poured liquid into her until she vomited. She was tortured like this for weeks until word was smuggled out to the press.

So, refresh my memory. Some women won't vote this year because--why, exactly? We have carpool duties? We have to get to work? Our vote doesn't matter? It's raining? Last week, I went to a sparsely attended screening of HBO's new movie "Iron Jawed Angels." It is a graphic depiction of the battle these women waged so that I could pull the curtain at the polling booth and have my say. HBO will run the movie periodically before releasing it on video and DVD. I wish all history, social studies and government teachers would include the movie in their curriculum. I want it shown on Bunko night, too, and anywhere else women gather. I realize this isn't our usual idea of socializing, but we are not voting in the numbers that we should be, and I think a little shock therapy is in order.
It is jarring to watch Woodrow Wilson and his cronies try to persuade a psychiatrist to declare Alice Paul insane so that she could be permanently institutionalized. And it is inspiring to watch the doctor refuse. Alice Paul was strong, he said, and brave. That didn't make her crazy. The doctor admonished the men: "Courage in women is often mistaken for insanity."

SENIOR CITIZEN CLASS REUNION

CLASS REUNION of a 68 YEAR-OLD LADY

I had prepared for it like any intelligent woman would. I went on a starvation diet the day before, knowing that all the extra weight would just melt off in 24-hours, leaving me with my sleek, trim, high-school-girl body. The last many years of careful cellulite collection would just be gone with a snap of a finger. I knew if I didn't eat a morsel on Friday, that I could probably fit into my senior formal on Saturday.

Trotting up to the attic, I pulled the gown out of the garment bag, carried it lovingly downstairs, ran my hand over the fabric, and hung it on the door. I stripped naked, looked in the mirror, sighed, and thought, "Well, okay, maybe if I shift it all to the back..." bodies never have pockets where you need them.

Bravely, I took the gown off the hanger, unzipped the shimmering dress and stepped gingerly into it. I struggled, twisted, turned, and pulled and I got the formal all the way up to my knees ... before the zipper gave out. I was disappointed. I wanted to wear that dress with those silver platform sandals again and dance the night away. Okay, one setback was not going to spoil my mood for this affair. No way! Rolling the dress into a ball and tossing it into the corner, I turned to Plan B: the black velvet caftan.

I gathered up all the goodies that I had purchased at the drug store: the scented shower gel; the bodybuilding and highlighting shampoo and conditioner, and the split-end killer and shine enhancer. Soon my hair would look like that girls in the Pantene ads. Then the makeup -- the under eye "ain't no lines here" firming cream, the all-day face-lifting gravity-fighting moisturizer with wrinkle filler spackle; the all day "kiss me till my lips bleed, and see if this gloss will come off" lipstick, the bronzing face powder for that special glow... but first, the roll-on facial hair remover. I could feel the wrinkles shuddering in fear.

OK - time to get ready...I jumped into the steaming shower, soaped, lathered, rinsed, -shaved, tweezed, buffed, scrubbed, and scoured my body to a tingling pink. I plastered my freshly scrubbed face with the anti-wrinkle, gravity fighting, “your face will look like a baby's 'butt' face cream. I set my hair on the hot rollers. I felt wonderful. Ready to take on the world. Or in this instance, my underwear.

With the towel firmly wrapped around my glistening body, I pulled out the black lace, tummy-tucking, cellulite-pushing, ham hock-rounding girdle, and the matching "lifting those bosoms like they're filled with helium" bra. I greased my body with the scented body lotion and began the plunge. I pulled, stretched, tugged, hiked, folded, tucked, twisted, shimmied, hopped, pushed, wiggled, snapped, shook, caterpillar crawled, and kicked. Sweat poured off my forehead but I was done. And it didn't look bad. So I rested. A well deserved rest, to . Oh no. I had to go to the bathroom. And there wasn't a snap crotch. From now on, undies gotta have a snap crotch. I was ready to rip it open and re-stitch the crotch with Velcro, but the pain factor from past experiments was still fresh in my mind. I quickly sidestepped to the bathroom.
An hour later, I had answered nature's call and repeated the struggle into the girdle. I was ready for the bra and remembered what the saleslady said to do. I could see her glossed lips mouthing, "Do not fasten the bra in the front, and twist it around. Put the bra on the way it should be worn--straps over the shoulders. Then bend over and gently place both breasts inside the cups." Easy if you have four hands. But, with confidence, I put my arms into the holsters, bent over and pulled the bra down ... but the boobs weren't cooperating. I'd no sooner tuck one in a cup, and while placing the other, the first would slip out. I needed a strategy. I bounced up and down a few times, tried to dribble them in with swinging. Finally, on the fourth swing, pause, and lift, I captured the gliding glands. Quickly fastening the back of the bra, I stood up for examination. Back straight, slightly arched, I turned and faced the mirror, turning front, and then sideways. I smiled, "Yes, Houston, we have lift up!" My breasts were high, firm and there was cleavage! I was happy until I tried to look down. I had a chin rest and I couldn't see my feet. I still had to put on my pantyhose, and shoes. Oh ... why did I buy heels with buckles? Then I had to pee again. I put on my sweats, fixed myself a drink, ordered pizza, and skipped the reunion.

WOMEN

GREAT QUOTES BY GREAT LADIES

Inside every older person is a younger person -- wondering what the hell happened.
-Cora Harvey Armstrong

Inside me lives a skinny woman crying to get out. But I can usually shut the bitch up with cookies.
-Anonymous

The hardest years in life are those between ten and seventy.
-Helen Hayes (at 73)

I refuse to think of them as chin hairs. Now, I think of them as stray eyebrows.
-Janette Barbe

Things are going to get a lot worse before they get worse.
-Lily Tomlin

A male gynecologist is like an auto mechanic who never owned a car.
-Carrie Snow

Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry and you cry with your girlfriends.
-Laurie Kuslansk

My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being, hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint.
-Erma Bombeck

Old age ain't no place for sissies.
-Bette Davis

A man's got to do what a man's got to do. A woman must do what he can't.
-Rhonda Hansome

The phrase "working mother" is redundant.
-Jane Sellman

Every time I close the door on reality, it comes in through the windows.
-Jennifer Unlimited

Whatever women must do they must do twice as well as men to be thought half as good. Luckily, this is not difficult.
-Charlotte Whitton

Thirty-five is when you finally get your head together and your body starts falling apart.
-Caryn Leschen

I try to take one day at a time -- but sometimes several days attack me at once.
-Jennifer Unlimited

If you can't be a good example -- then you'll just have to be a horrible warning.
-Catherine

When I was young, I was put in a school for retarded kids for two years before they realized I actually had a hearing loss. And they called ME slow!
-Kathy Buckley

I'm not offended by all the dumb blonde jokes because I know I'm not dumb -- and I'm also not blonde. -Dolly Parton

If high heels were so wonderful, men would still be wearing them.
-Sue Grafton

I'm not going to vacuum 'til Sears makes one you can ride on.
-Roseanne Barr

When women are depressed they either eat or go shopping. Men invade another country.
-Elayne Boosler

Behind every successful man is a surprised woman.
-Maryon Pearson

In politics, if you want anything said, ask a man. If you want anything done, ask a woman.
-Margaret Thatcher

I have yet to hear a man ask for advice on how to combine marriage and a career.
-Gloria Steinem

I am a marvelous housekeeper. Every time I leave a man, I keep his house.
-Zsa Zsa Gabor

Nobody can make you feel inferior without your permission.
-Eleanor Roosevelt

Mothers

I love you Mom!!! You are so wonderful and special and I'm so glad your MY Mom! Love, Annie


BEFORE I WAS A MOM



I made and ate hot meals. I had unstained clothing. I had quiet conversations on the phone.

Before I was a Mom, I slept as late as I wantedand never worried about how late I got into bed. I brushed my hair and my teeth everyday. Before I was a Mom, I cleaned my house each day. I never tripped over toys or forgot words to lullabies. Before I was a Mom, I didn't worry whether my plants were poisonous. I never thought about immunizations. Before I was a Mom, I had never been puked on, Pooped on, Spit on, Chewed on, Peed on, Or pinched by tiny fingers. Before I was a Mom, I had complete control of my mind, My thoughts, My body, I slept all night. Before I was a Mom, I never held down a screaming child so that doctors could do tests or give shots. I never looked into teary eyes and cried. I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin. I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep. Before I was a Mom, I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put it down. I never felt my heart break into a million pieces When I couldn't stop the hurt. I never knew that something so small could affect my life so much. I never knew that I could love someone so much. I never knew I would love being a Mom. Before I was a Mom, I didn't know the feeling of having my heart outside my body. I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby. I didn't know that bond between a mother and her child. I didn't know that something so small could make me feel so important. Before I was a Mom, I had never gotten up in the middle of the night every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay. I had never known the warmth, The joy, The love, The heartache, The wonderment, Or the satisfaction of being a Mom. I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much before I was a Mom. Send this to someone who you think is a special Mom.

WHY MEN ARE NOT SECRETARIES

Husband's note on refrigerator for wife:
Someone from the Gyna Colleges called.
They said the Pabst beer is normal.
I didn't know you liked beer.