When I tell you my face is like Shakira’s hips, it’s not because it’s sexy and Colombian — it’s because it just can’t lie. Ask me a direct question, and no matter what comes out of my mouth, my face is guaranteed to give you an honest answer.
And to be honest, this is annoying as fuck.
Sure, when people realize that my face is controlled by a do-gooding Muppet, they do tend to feel relaxed in my presence. An honest face means a nice person, right? And it is lovely to be considered nice, but guys… sometimes you need to lie. Lying is, like, a basic need.
For example, last year I was single and dating one of those “badboy” types (badboy being code for a guy who is a total dick). In my bid to impress him, I wanted to come across as mysterious and cultured, which naturally requires a lot of lying. We would walk through bookstores and he would constantly point to every book in the classics section, telling me in a smug-as-balls way how many he had read.
“Heather, you MUST have read Bouvard et Pécuchet by Gustave Flaubert. It’s a CLASSIC!”
“Haha, of course I’ve read it,” I would say. But it would be too late. My face would be twitching into what can only be referred to as a “rabbit caught in headlights” expression. HE KNOWS, I would think, and then I’d blurt out, “Okay, kind of, not really — BUT I’VE READ ANNA KARENINA, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?!”
Needless to say, that relationship did not work out.