The office security guard pleads with me to smile on a daily basis.
The Starbucks barista asks, “Oh, come on. Is life all that bad?”
The office lech leans into my cubicle, reminding me to “Smile!”
My then-boyfriend, grimaces and asks, “Why so seriousssszzzz?”
Yes, world. I. HAVE. CHRONIC. BITCH. FACE. Or CBF for short.
My face settles and intersects with a perma-frown and the horror of smelling shit. Call me crazy, but a perma-grin is far creepier. You know at least one person at work or your neighbor with a frozen smile. They look like village idiots or worse, happy zombies.
I do not need a reminder to smile. I am capable. In fact, you will see my smile during a dirty joke, when my kid babbles, or when I am having a wonderful day.
I accept that my CBF is off-putting or a personal affront to some. But trust me, my CBF has nothing to do with you. In most cases I’m in the middle of deep and existential thoughts. I am unapproachable, because, yes you’ve guessed it, I don’t want to be approach. Or talk. Or shoot the shit.
I had a very serious episode of CBF while I was at a nearby cafe writing my blog. A few tables down, a guy in his mid-50’s and his son were enjoying lunch. Their conversation was just as off-putting as my CBF. The dad was giving his kid (who looked like he was about 17 or 18) dating tips that sounded like they belonged on the pages of Penthouse’s Letter to the Editor. Every woman who walked by received a disgusting, objectifying comment, such as “nice legs,” “tight ass,” etc. Additionally, he was chatting up the hapless waitress, asking about her workouts and commenting about her great physique. RRRRReeettccchhhh.
I knew it was coming. The other women had come and gone. I was the last female in a 30 foot radius.
“Hey, I liiiiikkkeeee your boots,” older pervert says as lecherous as it sounds.
I don’t look up, but murmur “Thanks.”
Apparently, my dismissive CBF reared it’s ugly head.
Older pervert not-so-subtly whispers across the table to his son, “Whoa. What a bitch.”
YES! EXACTLY! I am a bitch to chauvinists assholes like you and your poor son.
Logic tells me that CBF formed through years of defending myself against unwanted advances from clueless or aggressive men. Logic also tells me that I shouldn’t pigeonhole everyone into the category. Alas and alack (two of my favorite words) I haven’t acted on this form of enlightenment.
So, when you see a CBF walking down the street, please, resist the urge and ask her to smile. She doesn’t want to smile. Her face is exactly how the heavens above made it. Bitchy and all.
Any other CBFs in the blogosphere?