RBF

My face is marble. Cold, hard and pale. You know, otherwise known as RBF: resting bitch face.

I look scary most of the time. My alternative is to smile maniacally, but that usually results in me looking deranged, like a Stepford Wife. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

When I call out to my children, they will often approach dubiously, carefully and ask, ‘Are you mad at us?’

I reply, ‘No! Why would you think that?’

‘Coz, you look angry, Mum.’ Hmmm. This is no good. Face, tone and actions not adding up. Great mothering here, folks!

I had a boyfriend in my early twenties who told me I had a harsh face. He wasn’t my boyfriend for long after he said that. In that circumstance, I made sure that my face and actions matched perfectly.

I’ve been taking extra thought lately to soften my RBF, especially with the children. In softening my RBF, I make sure I don’t slip into the weird, spaced-out smile. It’s hard, being of pleasant countenance; for one thing, I’m tired all the time. Three primary school-aged children and peri-menopause are enough to drain the most energetic, fittest of women. Age is against me too. My RBF is sagging under sloppy jowls, wrinkles and the beginnings of an extra chin.

In the last year of my forties, I am aware of my foibles, my strengths and weaknesses. That is the good thing about ageing—eventually, we learn a few things along the path of life. I know I have some work areas, and others where I just say, ‘This is who I am. Deal with it!’

But, my RBF…that’s a work area. Nobody likes to look like an unfeeling, grumpy bitch.

Have a great day!

 

Photo by sydney Rae on Unsplash