Want me to smile? Give me a reason.
After a lifetime of strangers scurrying from my path, coworkers asking if I'm angry with them and people looking back at me with a panicked"What?" I accepted my diagnosis. I have what medical professionals call severe chronic resting bitchface. My features naturally relax into a scowl somewhere between judgy stone statue and pre-strike hooded cobra. When concentrating or listening intently, my brows angle down like train cars about to collide.
ADVERTISEMENT When people recoil, I've always responded with,"This is just my face." But lately, if you ask me about my RBF, even if I happen to be reclining by a pool, drinking from a pineapple, I might overcome the reflex to dismiss my expression and reply,"I'm filled with a molten rage that could turn this whole place and everyone in it to silvery heaps of ash. Thanks for asking."I know I'm not alone.
"Some give voice to the voiceless. I'm bitchfacing for the bitchfaceless." More generous people than I will open hearts and minds, tug us gently back toward the better angels of our nature. But we all must use the gifts we are given and mine is a gorgonesque expression that never wears off. Some give voice to the voiceless. I'm bitchfacing for the bitchfaceless.
Well, are you willfully misunderstanding players kneeling at a football game as protesting"The Star-Spangled Banner" and a slight against veterans rather than the disproportionate and deadly police violence against black people? Then this bitchface is for you. Are you chuckling along as the president mocks a survivor of sexual assault? I've got something special for you. Maybe you're good with children being forcibly taken from their families and locked up.
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