Sunday, 11 August 2013

Chronic bitchface

Today was one of those days. My resting bitchface was pretty permanent. I just couldn't shake it off. It doesn't mean that I don't want to be doing my job or that I'll do it badly, it just means that today, for whatever reason, smiles are not being handed out like unicorn dreams and fairy wings.

Sometimes I just don't want to smile inanely at complete strangers. Sometimes I just want to do my job quickly, efficiently and well - and, don't get me wrong, having a small chat and a reciprocal grin with a like minded stranger is absolutely fine and will even cheer me up - but being told to smile over and over again just isn't going to make it happen.

"Cheer up darlin', it might never happen."

"You're chirpy today, hwaw, hwaw, hwaw,"

"Takes less muscles to smile than it does to frown you know. Did you know that?"

"You're not a glass is half full person are you?"

Oh do fuck off. Really. How is it that if you have natural bitchface people seem to take it as a personal affront? Like you've just ruined their entire day because you can't even SMILE INANELY THE WHOLE TIME FOR NO FUCKING REASON. There are definitely not the same expectations of men. I've seen male bartenders, shop assistants, customer service types carry on their work with no one heckling them repeatedly to smilllllllllllllllllllllllle.

See, I do smile. I smile when something makes me smile. When someone is nice, charming or funny. Or something interesting happens. Or something piques my interest. Or I see a dog. Or a cat. In short, when the situation warrants it, I am perfectly able to smile. But I don't do it on demand and I don't do it for no reason.

And that thing about it taking fewer (not less, idiot, FEWER) muscles to smile than frown is bullshit. I should know. My face in its natural repose looks angry. It's a frowny kind of face. And I suffer no ill effects from over using frowning muscles. It's perfectly comfortable. The very act of cranking out a fake smile in response to a shit joke from a stranger physically hurts though.

So yeah. I don't always smile. So fucking what? It doesn't give blokes (and yes, it is always, ALWAYS blokes) the right to yell at me in the street to 'cheer up' or 'smile darlin' and then when I don't comply to call me a bitch.

It's possible that tomorrow I will wake up and be in the mood to bestow smiles upon everyone I meet, like an erstwhile Disney princess. But I highly doubt it. Either way, it'll be my choice.




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