Which begs my titular question. The writer, a lady, praises RBF (resting-bitch-face, in case you missed it) women of the world, exclaiming, “We are not simply overly sarcastic and dry-witted beings, we are communicative geniuses!”
If only I were single. No matter, I can still bring honest friendship to the table.
So OK, so what if we guys have RBF? I’ve been accused myself. This total stranger in the hall at work, a really beautiful lady, and I, actually met once and she said I gave her a mean look and she wanted to know why. This happened before RBF syndrome was diagnosed in women, and before all the “smile! you’ll look a lot prettier” bullshit harassment by men started to be called out by you lovely feminists. The long and short? She called me out for my RGF and we eventually became friends.
But does it mean we men with RGF are “not simply overly sarcastic and dry-witted beings, we are communicative geniuses” too? Because if not, fuck you for your double standard. I’m hardly ever sarcastic or dry-witted but when I am, who the fuck do you think you are, you pompous fucking ass hole, saying I’m mean or grumpy when I simply had my blank RGF (resting grumpy-man face) on? Farbeit from me to ever describe a woman as a bitch, but if the Louboutin’s pinch your feet, wear ’em. If we really are grumpy, it’s because we can’t afford your Louboutin lifestyle. We wish we could.
All you popular people who invent new expressions, feel free to credit me with the creation of the expression “RGF.” That’s “Resting Grumpy-Man Face.” And use it liberally, after you tell them it was Deon Mumple that invented it.
I really am grumpy. I really can’t afford your damned Louboutin fantasies. But I really do also have a RGF, a resting grumpy face, by which I do not mean to seem unfriendly or mean or grumpy or as though I don’t want to interact with you with sarcasm and dry wit. I do. It’s just… this is my face. Deal with it. By which I mean, if you’re a coward, walk away. But if not, give me a chance.
If you really are a bitch, fuck you, but at the same time I think I like you. Because there’s something about a total, absolute bitch, a lady who is mean as fuck at first and second impressions and standoffish and suspicious at all costs. I count it something of a personal victory if I can still make friends with you. It’s because I know you. You are awesome, and I know you have valid reasons for being a bitch, and I’d love to hear them. Because I have valid reasons for being a grump. The world is a shitty place sometimes, and people treat us as if we were just another part of it. We’re not. We’re special. We matter. We long for someone to appreciate these facts. But if you really are “simply overly sarcastic and dry-witted,” I’m already charmed. Either way, we have much to discuss. Over, say, appetizers and a nice bottle of wine?
See? Damn, if I were single, we might have even more to discuss. Because I know you. You ladies are awesome.