I turned to my wife Mac recently, and asked a question.

“Do I have a resting bitch face?”

She smiled, suppressing a laugh I suspect, the question having no context whatsoever and coming fast on the heels of “What shall we have for supper.”

What an ass. Life with Tony such as it is, my question was a serious one and I knew Mac would give me an honest answer. I hadn’t intended when I awoke that morning to ask this question. It came to me as I read something about changes that happen as we age, including significant facial change. I had not previously even heard about RBF (Resting Bitch Face) but Google it, turns out it’s a thing.

Nor, notwithstanding my knew awareness of RBF, did it occur to me that I had a Resting Bitch Face. I have always been a smiley character, easy with a laugh and whenever I caught myself in the mirror, what would typically look back at me, I would consider to be a friendly face. Yes, yes I know this might seem just a wee bit self indulgent but bear with me here, I’m going somewhere with this. I am as interested as you, where that might be.

Mac is kind and mindful and has never said anything carelessly hurtful to me. That is wonderful, a real gift of friendship. Sure, whatever. It also means that when Mac speaks, she means what she says. I ask a direct question. Mac gives me a direct answer. All that in mind then, one can safely assume it was indeed safe to ask Mac that question.

She paused, longer than I had anticipated. I always revelled in the choreographed tension. Question posed. Answer to be given. It reminded me of those glorious intoxicating moments during my time as a criminal defence lawyer, waiting for the jury foreperson to answer the question.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, of the jury. Have you reached a verdict.”

It was a moment rich in suspense and consequence, often the culmination of months of work and trial. Such a small word, landing with life changing impact, thunderously in the courtroom.

“Yes, your Honour.”

“What say you?”

“The defendant does have a Resting Bitch Face.”

I snapped out of my John Grisham fantasy, and recoiled at Mac’s answer.

“No. I don’t. Really? I do? A Resting Bitch Face?”

And there it was. Good Lord, I need to teach that girl how to demure, how to round off the jagged edges of an uncomfortable truth.

Turns out a Resting Bitch Face is a real thing. Seems the facial muscles that held up my beautiful face through my 75 years have lost some of their elasticity, their tone. Yeah sure, I’ll add that to my freakin’ list! Add in a touch of gravity, eh voilà, my Resting Bitch Face. And words have failed me. I mean I am good with words, I know how to weaponize words and bring them to my defense, whenever it has been needed. This time though, no matter my tactical sharpness, words have failed me, matched unsparingly by every mirror in my house.

And the disarming truth delivered by my wife, with such grace, has been unsettling for me. Throughout my life I have offered a friendly ‘Hello‘ to thousands of strangers and been rewarded with hundreds of interesting, compelling, funny, even trivial stories. Strangers sharing by storytelling. It has been deeply rewarding. Part of my approachability is that I have always thought I look nice, for want of a better word. Unthreatening. Well, apparently not so much anymore, and that helps explain why my ‘Hello’ success rate has fallen off precipitously. At least, now I know why.

Such an ass. You try looking nice and unthreatening with a Resting Bitch Face!