The Mr and I spent Thanksgiving weekend at my brother's place and for some reason, we got to talking about our family's faces. Like we all do. Me: Sister 1 has that perfect mom glare, though... it's terrifying.
Brother: Yeah, but Sister 2 has the definition of a Resting Bitch Face.
Me: That is so true.
Brother: You, on the other hand, have Resting I'm-a-Freaking-Psycho Face.
And while I'd never heard it put that way before, I knew right away that, well... he's not wrong. In fact, he's spot on. As always.
I've been told that I look frightening when I'm crocheting, which is the thing I find most relaxing. When I write: same thing. The Mr has stopped asking if I'm okay, but the children at church regard me with intrigued caution.
Wait... is this why I'm not allowed to use the sharp knives in the kitchen? Is this why everyone thinks I'm crazy? Is it just my face that has been leading to some strange self-fulfilling prophecy?! COULD I HAVE BEEN NORMAL IF MY FACE WAS DIFFERENT THIS WHOLE TIME?
And to think that people say looks don't matter...
P.S. I realize that this theory makes it sound like I think that Sister 2 is a bitch. She is not. She's actually the kindest person on earth. It's infuriating. This, of course, totally blows my theory to smithereens... but what do I care? I'M CRAZY.
Time for some business:
An essay I wrote was published on The Feminine Collective this week, and I'm stupidly proud of it. You can go read it here and then share it with all of your friends because not only do you maybe like what I do, but more people need to know about this amazing online magazine.
If you've already read it, thank you so much! I've been getting so many wonderful messages and you all just make my hearts sing.
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