Updated: Aug. 20, 2015
Originally Published: June 3, 2015
As I gracefully age—not too old, mind you—I’ve noticed those first subtle signs of time leaving their mark on my face. How did I come to this realization? People began expressing genuine concern over my mood. Just yesterday, I found myself in a few eye-opening conversations:
A coworker (interrupting my blissful daydream about my ultimate celebrity crush): “Good morning!”
Me (sighing dreamily): “Morning.”
Coworker: “Are you alright?”
Me: “Yes… Why?” (Uh-oh, can she read my mind? Is my face flushed? Am I hyperventilating?)
Coworker: “You look tired.”
Me: “Oh, well, not really. Maybe just a tad.” (If “tired” translates to “lost in thoughts about my celebrity Freebie list,” then yes, I’m completely drained.)
Coworker (still skeptical): “Let me know if you need anything.”
Later that day…
Me (entering the lunchroom): “Hey, everyone!”
(The sight of my incredible meal—leftover Chinese with those delightful little pork bits and beef skewers—has me practically drooling.)
Coworker: “Hey.”
Me: grunting (I can’t even form words; this food is divine. I’d marry it if I could.)
Coworker: “Are you okay?”
Me: “Absolutely! This food is phenomenal.”
Coworker: “Really? You seemed a bit down.”
Me: “What? No, I’m on the verge of a foodgasm!”
Later that evening…
I’m sprawled on the couch, binge-watching Orange Is the New Black, pondering the complexities of love. No, I’m definitely more interested in men. But hey, a wife would be nice for the laundry and dinner duties. Wait, I should really be watching Mad Men right now.
Husband (interrupting my thoughts): “Hey. We need to talk?”
Me: “What? (Oh no, he knows. He must know I appreciate a nice pair of… you know. This can’t be good. What did I forget? I’m sure I paid the bills.)”
Husband (raising an eyebrow): “Do we need to discuss something?”
Me: “Not that I know of. Why?” (Help me out here; I can’t decipher your mind.)
Husband: “You look like you’re mad at me. Are you?”
Me: “No! Not at all.” (Why do you think I’m mad?)
Husband: “It’s your face. You look mad.”
Me: “My face?”
Husband: “Yes, you’ve got a bit of an 11 showing.”
Me: “An 11? No way! I scrubbed those away with my fancy new facial brush. It’s supposed to wipe out even the toughest wrinkles—like those in between my eyes! Remember Susan’s facial care party? I thought it was just a snack and drinks thing.”
Husband: “Wow. Have you been drinking? No, there’s definitely an 11 there, and you’re squinting. But you look flawless.”
Me (slowly): “Tight, flawless, and wrinkled? What are you saying?”
Husband: “I think I’ll head to bed now.”
Me: “Good idea.”
I paused to consider this situation. What does my face really look like? Why do my dreaming face, my foodgasm face, and my TV-watching face all seem to raise eyebrows? It hit me—I’ve developed a classic case of Resting Bitch Face.
Yep, RBF. An unintentional scowl that replaces a neutral expression. Fantastic. With a couple of wrinkles and some far-sightedness, I look like I’m ready to take someone down—hard and fast.
RBF. Awesome. Is there any way I can turn this to my advantage? First, I’ll daydream about my number one Freebie crush more often (it’s definitely Ryan Gosling, if you’re curious). I might even throw in a fantasy about my second crush—Tom Hiddleston. My face won’t give away my daydreams, that’s for sure.
Second, I plan to utilize this look for child intimidation. “Hey, kiddo, think you can ignore my request to clean up your toys? Let’s see how you feel about this face!”
And third, I’m definitely going to return that useless vibrating brush. Who needs it when my husband thinks I look tight and flawless?
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Summary:
As I age, I’ve unwittingly developed Resting Bitch Face (RBF), making my expressions often misunderstood as anger or sadness. Despite this, I’m determined to embrace it—using it for comedic effect and even to boss around my child. Plus, I’ll keep dreaming about my celebrity crushes without my face giving away my thoughts!