It was recently brought to my attention that I have a permanent case of Resting Bitchface. A few days ago I was joyfully wrapping the purchase of an elderly customer at the colourful shop in which I work. This (seemingly) lovely old woman grabbed my hand, stared directly into my fearful eyes and cried with such intensity I thought she might drop dead; “Honey! Relax your face! You’re going to need some very serious Botox very, very soon!” And that was the first moment I realised; I’ve got Resting Bitchface.
You know that age-old saying “Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline”? Well, I very much happened to be born with it. Apparently I exited the body of my own mother with a look of such disgust at the world that she momentarily regretted ever having got pregnant. Allow me to elaborate. Resting Bitchface (RBF) is the neutral face that appears to be in an unexplainable state of pain, anxiousness or stress at any given moment. RBF is often mistaken for the projection of extreme hatred or anger towards any innocent individual. That friend of yours who gives you daggers when you joyfully greet them hello? Resting Bitchface. Your next-door neighbour who glares at you every morning as you hop outside in your oldest undies to get the paper? Resting Bitchface.
Here’s the thing; I’m not even a bitch. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been known to say the odd bitchy comment, but as a general rule, I am a mostly nice, friendly person. I like to think that those who know me best might vouch for this fact. So why have I been cursed with RBF? I guess we’ll never know. So please, do me (and yourself) a favour and try not to immediately hate the random stranger eyeballing you on the bus. Chances are they simply suffer from RBF and might actually carry a heart of gold. Or they might actually be a bitch, and that might actually be their face.