At best, my resting bitch face makes me appear unapproachable. At worst, I look homicidal.

Still, that is NOTHING compared to my active bitch face!

When facing anything cataclysmic to mundane, my face almost operates on its own. I know I’m visibly reacting but there nothing I can do about it. It’s as if my 20 facial muscles are involuntary and I feel my face physically contort to the stimulus despite my valiant attempts to display any socially acceptable reaction. I definitely do not possess a poker face and couldn’t hide my feelings even if I wanted to. I do my best to meet some encounters with a pasted-on smile but that doesn’t last very long.

My left eyebrow usually reacts to any blip in my bullshit meter by raising into a sharp arch far higher then my right. Or, when hearing or seeing something that angers me, my eyebrows go to war against each other and damn near collide in the middle when I scowl. The skin between my brows have formed two trenches that no amount of Botox could camouflage.

My naturally plump lips purse into a thin line as if to form a seal as watertight as a duck’s ass. Yet, this seal never prevents me from voicing my opinion or disdain which somehow bursts through as easily as a sneeze through Kleenex despite my best efforts.

My eyes operate with the precision of a laser sighting system of an NRA-approved assault weapon. My eyes narrow and I can almost hear the cyborg-like whirs and clicks as my pupils dilate and refocus for the kill. I have a glare that I practiced in the mirror so much as a teen that it is second nature and can pierce metal. My ocular muscles become more limber than a yoga instructor as evidenced by my extraordinary eye rolls that cause me to nearly lose my balance.

Sometimes I don’t even know I’m reacting until someone asks me what’s wrong. Nothing is wrong per se. It’s just socially unacceptable to tell someone they are full of shit so I let my face do my talking.

Read my face, it’s right there.