This one thing has bothered me all my life. It's my face.
I recently started a new job, and a big part of it is using highly sophisticated equipment and software that's not yet particularly intuitive or user-friendly. I've spent hours revising one of the software manuals. I've spent hours trying to use the software to do aforementioned revising. And I've spent hours trying to figure out snags myself.
This is where my face bothers me.
My boss walks into the room, asks how things are going, I say fine or good or okay or pretty well, and he says, So what's the problem? Last week, suspecting it was my word choice that tipped him off to my stuck-ness, I said, Great! This is really coming together.
I must have come across as sarcastic.
One day he said something like, Well, I know there's something wrong. I can tell by your face.
The other day at practice, Minnie Militia said that people are always telling her she looks angry when she's skating. Apparently that's just her face. I'm pretty envious.
During a practice scrimmage a few months ago, I got some nice rink rash across the top of my hand, and in the two seconds before I could get off the floor and keep skating, one of the refs called off the jam for injury. I asked her why she called it off since I felt fine and was getting up, and she said my face made her think I'd broken a bunch of bones or something. Little tiny rink rash!
I've been practicing my stoicism for years. Also, my "mean face" for the track. You wouldn't know it, though. My face gives away my true feelings.
"Let the stoics say what they please, we do not eat for the good of living, but because the meat is savory and the appetite is keen." - Ralph Waldo Emerson
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