And I have a resting bitch face! What chance do I have?

I recently had two different people, in the span of a few days, offer up the unsolicited opinion that I look like Ben Roethlisberger.

I had to look him up online. I know he plays football, was pretty sure he’s been accused of raping multiple women, but I had no idea what he actually looked like.

Turns out he’s a big sweaty white dude. And, yeah, I’m one of those. Thanks so very much for your kind words. That’s exactly the type of thing you should say to someone.

It’d be pretty hypocritical to get up in arms over though, offering unflattering opinions is something I spend an awful lot of time doing. And I know that what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, but I think it’s a bit unfair to assume that just ‘cuz I can dish it I can also take it. I’m a very insensitive sensitive young man. And I have the good grace to not say rude things to people’s faces. Usually. Maybe not all the time, or even most, but I am aware that a lot of the stuff that comes out of my mouth would have been best left unsaid. Which should count for something.

I’ve been having trouble with one of the clerks at our nearby Costco equivalent. It started months ago, when I at checkout and tossed a box of candy onto the conveyor belt. It was one of those things where I was kind of high, put a bit too much vinegar on it, knocked a bunch of shit over and made a lot of noise.

Oops.

The short fat old lady behind the register was not pleased.

“What’s your problem? You upset at something?”

I was not, but I do have a resting bitch face, so I understand that I always look a little pissed off when my mind is off in the ether.

I’ve got a lot of other positive qualities though. I’m a superb housewife. I cook delicious food and do an acceptable job of keeping our home from descending into outright squalor.

It turns out the housewife deal suits me to a T. It’s not a hard gig, my husband-wife appreciates it, and there aren’t any kids getting underfoot ruining my good time. I’ve learned which markets sell the best produce, the cheapest spices, the choicest cuts of meat, hit them up multiple times a week making sure everything we eat is nice and fresh. Never run out of anything anymore. You want a bowl of cereal?  You can bet your sweet ass there’s milk in the fridge.

But I’ve been having trouble with one of the clerks at our nearby Costco equivalent. It started months ago, when I at checkout and tossed a box of candy onto the conveyor belt. It was one of those things where I was kind of high, put a bit too much vinegar on it, knocked a bunch of shit over and made a lot of noise.

Oops.

The short fat old lady behind the register was not pleased.

“What’s your problem? You upset at something?”

I was not, but I do have a resting bitch face, so I understand that I always look a little pissed off when my mind is off in the ether.

From then on she was cold as ice. I’d try to avoid her line whenever I could, but she works midday, when I do my shopping, and was often the only person available.

I tried taking a page from my wife’s book of manipulation tricks and attempted to kill her with kindness. All smiles, how are you, how’s your day, blah blah blah. I make an effort to remember to go through those motions, I understand that people appreciate it. I often wonder if they can tell I don’t really care, but I assume that no one does. They’re just little dance steps everyone goes through and which I’m learning at a late age.

Yesterday I stopped by to see if they had any fresh long beans, which are delicious. They were out, but I remembered I needed to pick up a few things anyway, specifically a four-pound bag of sugar and a carton of cigarettes.

She took one look at my cart, made a little face, and asked, “That’s it?”

Yep, just a ton of sugar and some smokes, thankyouverymuch.

She scanned my stuff, then paused and slowly looked me up and down.

“How old are you, anyway?”

I am 35.

“You look good for your age.”

Now, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?