Apparently, my mom has what’s called a “resting bitch face.”
It’s an uneducated Internet diagnosis which means that her neutral is an angry neutral. Angry as hell. For example, if she were to walk down the street. On her way to purchase meat from the local grocer perhaps. And you were walking in the opposite direction. On your way to buy items from the adult book store maybe. And you saw her, you’d think: Holy shit, what is she so pissed about? Does she know where I’m going? Oh god, does she know I’m on my way to buy some of that sweet kinky nasty statue porn that I like so much? So very much. Nasty statues. With lots of pigeons. Dirty Naughty statues. I see you looking at me! Hotties.
Well before you go off to the adult book store and then to the park and then to jail, you should know that my mom wasn’t mad at you. Or anyone. That’s her “resting bitch face.” Look, I didn’t name it. That’s the diagnosis the Google search returned when I typed “What the sweet goddamn is her problem?” So it’s solid.
To give you a picture of her neutral, what she looks like when she’s thinking of meat from the local grocer, imagine the most exaggerated “duck face” selfie you’ve ever seen on the internet. Now imagine that girl in her sixties, sitting on the couch with her arms crossed, not saying a word. There you go. You could be at my mom’s house on Christmas.
All her life, people have been reacting to her neutral. They’ve tried to console her and calm her because they assumed no one would make that face if they weren’t about to start throwing knives at everybody. Ironically, all this unsolicited comfort ever did was piss her off. Even if they approached her out of kindness and concern:
“Hey Jan, is everything ok? You look like something’s bothering you. Wanna talk?”
“No! I’m fine! Why are you such an asshole? Wanna talk? Get the fuck out of here!*”
Textbook example of self-fulfilling prophecy.
I considered getting her a shirt to wear that said “This is just my face. I’m fine. Mind your own goddamned business. Thanx!”
I thought the x on Thanx added a bit of reassuring playfulness.
Growing up around this has rendered me completely incapable of caring about other human beings. People look like they’re about to go all out up in here and I assume they’re just reflecting on meat prices. Because looking angry as shit was the norm in my house.
Apparently, I didn’t inherit this “resting bitch face.” Because my neutral is more slack-jawed and drooly. My neutral draws reactions like “Are you even listening to me?” Then I have to scramble to remember the last thing I heard. Usually it was a song. In my head.
So if you’re ever at a family gathering of mine, don’t worry about my mom. She’s fine. She wants everyone to know that nothing is wrong. She’s alive and that’s good enough for her. Why can’t it be good enough for you?
*Okay, so my mom swears a whole lot more than my mulberry-murdering MIL, but she would never drop the f-bomb. And she would never be openly aggressive. But this blog isn’t about truth or looking for truth. This blog is my coping mechanism. This blog and the other blog. The darker blog. Then there’s the secret blog. But of course I can’t give you the link to that one. That one so full of statues. And pigeons.