Here’s a situation some of you will identify with. I’m minding my own business, innocently doing what I do, when a family member asks: “Why the long face? Cheer up, it might never happen! Haw!”
I’m in a perfectly good mood (for once.) I can’t understand what could have inspired this comment. I shrug – after all, the world is an infinitely confusing and mysterious place – but then I catch a glimpse of my reflection. Suddenly all becomes clear. I suffer from chronic bitchface.
The realisation affected me greatly. I had to completely re-evaluate my life. Until then, I believed I was floating around with a wide-eyed, benign smile on my face. I thought that to the casual passer by, I appeared pleasant and approachable. Could it be that all this time I looked like a petulant child?
Once I became aware of my bitchface, I tried everything in my power to cure it. I thought of nice things like kittens and new clothes and pretty boys. Nevertheless, when I glanced at my reflection in a shop mirror/car window (yes, you do it too, admit it) I saw it was not working. My natural expression still resembled a slapped arse. What could I do? Constantly rearranging my face into a pleasant grin was wearisome. I would have to either accept my bitchface or consider Botox-freezing my facial muscles into a permanent smile.
After a long internal struggle, I realised that I do not have the funds for Botox. I must come to terms with my affliction.
It took a while, but I have fully accepted my chronic bitchface. There are even times when it comes in handy. I have turned off many the ardent suitor in various nightclubs across the country by throwing them the bitchface. Those annoying charity people who corner you on Henry St aren’t so willing to talk to you when you look like you might punch them. You see? The bitchface has its benefits.
To any girl out there who feels like she has nowhere to turn, let my story be an inspiration. Your natural bitchface is beautiful. Accept it.