The Weaker Sex?  I don't think so...

We start to "bud" in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old  only to find
that anything that comes in contact with  those tender, blooming buds
hurts so bad it brings us to tears. Enter the almighty, uncomfortable
training bra  contraption the boys in school will snap until we
have 
calouses on our backs 

Next, we get our periods in our early to mid-teens (or sooner). Along
with those budding boobs, we now bloat, we cramp, we get the hormone
crankies, we have to wear little mattresses between our legs or insert
tubular, packed cotton rods in places we didn't even know we 
had. 

Our next little rite of passage (premarital or not) is having sex for
the first time which is about as much fun as having a ramrod push your
uterus through your 
nostrils (IF he did it right and didn't end up with his little cart
before his horse), leaving us to wonder what all the fuss was about.

Then it's off to Motherhood where we learn to live on dry crackers and
water for a few months so we don't spend the entire day leaning over
Brother John. Of 
course, amazing creatures that we are (and we are), we learn to live
with the growing little angels inside us steadily kicking our innards
night and day making us wonder if we're having Rosemary's Baby. Our
once flat bellies now look like we swallowed a watermelon whole, 
and we pee our pants every time we sneeze.

When the big moment arrives, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions
will invariably burst right in the middle of the mall and we'll waddle
with our big cartoon feet moaning in pain all the way to the ER. 
Then it's huff and puff and beg to die while the OB says, "Please stop
screaming, Mrs. Hearmeroar. Calm down and push, thus  warranting a
strong, well-deserved impulse to punch 
the bastard (and hubby) square in the nose for making us cram a
wiggling, mushroom-headed 10 lb. bowling ball through a keyhole.

After that, it's time to raise those angels only to find that when all
that "cute" wears off; the beautiful little darlings morph into
walking, jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking little
poop machines. The teen years; need I say  more?

The kids are almost grown now and we women hit our voracious sexual
prime in our mid-30's to early 40's while hubby had his somewhere
around his 18th birthday 
(which just happens to be the reason all that early hot man sex got
you pregnant in the first place).

At last we hit the grand finale: "The Menopause" -- the Grandmother of
all womanhood. It's either take the HRT 
and chance cancer in those now seasoned "buds" or theaforementioned
Nether Regions, or sweat like a hog in July, wash your sheets and
pillowcases daily and bite the head off anything that moves.
 
Now, you ask WHY women seem to be more spiteful than men when men
get 
off so easy INCLUDING the icing on life's cake: being able to pee in
the woods without soaking their socks....Now I love being a woman, but
"Womanhood" would make even the Great Ghandi a tad crabby.

Women are the "weaker sex?"
Yeah, right. Bite me.