bewize | LJ Idol 03: It supposedly takes something like 17 muscles to smile.

Put a smile on it. The thought of these words being growled at me should be a bit incongruous, but this was my father's favorite technique to restore order and quiet. Put a smile on it or I'll give you something to be upset about.

It was an oft repeated lesson that set well. To this day, smiling is my default facial expression. I smile so much of the time that when I started a job waiting tables with another woman named Bewize, the rest of the staff differentiated us by calling me "Bewize Smiles A Lot."

My rather permanent smile has become one of my most described features – when I graduated high school as one of the top academic students, a teacher gave a speech about me and mentioned my smile. I've even been approached about the possibility of appearing in a tooth paste commercial once.

I smile automatically – at babies, at old people, at random strangers (unless you're scary, then I smile down at the floor), at friends, at family, at bosses, at clients, at waiters, at doctors, at cops (even when they've pulled me over to give me a ticket), at everyone I meet - ever.

I smile so often that when I stop smiling, it's time to take cover, because there is no other warning before the explosion. But that is neither here nor there, because I've realized something.

If I'm smiling, no one has any idea what I'm really thinking.

I, like many people, have a little voice inside my head. Some call it a conscience. Some call it the Cautioner. I call my little voice the Inner Bitch, or the IB for short.

Allow me to describe a scene from a few days ago. I met a friend for dinner at her favorite Chinese restaurant. She was about fifteen minutes late, so I amused myself by ordering hot tea and then people watching.

The waiter brought me iced tea, and I smiled and asked him to fix it. The IB pipes up in the back of my brain. Good God, it's going to be like that, is it?

When the waiter returned, he brought the requested hot tea – and no tea cup. I smiled and asked him to fix it. The IB says, What a moron.

Meanwhile, a family of six is seated at two booths across from me. The four kids go to one booth, the two adults at the other. The woman is compulsively typing into her iPhone. She seems me watching her and says, "I couldn't live without this thing."

I smile and make some inane comment about the wonders of technology. Meanwhile, the IB pipes up, I wonder where she found the time to make four children. She hasn't even glanced at her husband since she sat down. Of course, having seen the husband, it's not a stretch to guess why not.

Now, the youngest child, a boy, starts whining, "Daaaaaaaad!!! Molly is being mean to me." Daaaaaaaad turns around and deals with whatever tragedy has occurred at the table. He sort of grimaces at me when he looks over again and says, "Sorry about that. Kids."

I smile, even though this time I can tell it's a little more strained than usual. The IB is starting to poke me behind the ribs. Seriously. We're going to pay to eat in this restaurant? Don't people know that they shouldn't have loud children in public? How f***ing inconsiderate of them!

About this time, my friend comes running in with tales of traffic woe and work hysterics. I smile and nod sympathetically. The IB sighs. I really hope we don't have to listen to this drivel for the entire meal.

By the time the food comes out, I'm starving enough that my smile is starting to falter. The situation isn't helped when the waitress sets down the wrong order in front of me. It's Lo Mein with chicken and shrimp. I only ordered chicken. But whatever, I'm starving and I like shrimp just fine. I say something, because I don't want to be charged an extra $3 and she says, "Oops!"

Then she snags the food away from me and rushes away.

I think I was still smiling, because it had now become a battle of manners vs. the need to hunt down my food and incapacitate the person stealing it away from me. With visions of toppled fish tanks, police lights, and screaming children dancing through my head, I managed to convince the IB that it really was not worth the effort of hurtling over the table and tackling the waitress to the ground with chopsticks.

My friend blithely ignores what just happened and is merrily chomping her way through the General Tso's chicken that no one had stolen from her. I'm smiling, but my teeth are gritted and it's become a real effort not to lose my temper and ask for the manager.

Ten minutes later, my order arrives. The waiter – back to the guy – apologizes. I smile, but it was pretty obviously just code for - Go away now. You've done enough.

Daaaaaaaad finally lets the four children leave the restaurant, and the boy stops long enough to hug him as they pass. I smile again and meet his eye. He still looks sheepish, but he doesn't push the kid away.

My friend starts telling me a funny story about some of her coworkers that results in nothing short of a grin. The IB is also amused and cackles along with me.

As we're leaving, the waiter tells me that he's comp-ing my meal, because of the wait and my inconvenience. This broad smile is the most genuine one I've had all night and I thank him profusely and leave a generous tip.

Just as we're about to leave, I notice the iPhone has been put away and the woman has switched sides, so that she's sitting on the same side of the booth as her husband (the infamous Daaaaaaaad). They're snuggled together and although I can't hear what they're saying, I'm suspicious that baby number 5 will be arriving in roughly 9 months.

I can still hear my dad, with his smoker's voice, growling, "Put a smile on it, or I'll give you something to whine about."

I'm smiling, Dad. And you should be glad that you can't read my thoughts right about now.

This entry was written in response to the

therealljidol Topic 03: Smile. There will (probably) be voting for this week's entries. I will make sure to link to the poll once it is put up and I would appreciate it if you would vote for me if you enjoy my entry. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.

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From:

stormkitty.livejournal.com

Oh, I have an IB, too. And that's exactly a lot of the same thoughts I would have had in your situation. Great entry!

From:

LJ Idol 03: It supposedly takes something like 17 muscles to smile.

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