I Was Born With a Resting Bitch Face – Epilogue – Why I Always Start With an Epilogue

I was taught to know how a story ends before I start telling it.

Actually, I was taught to think before doing pretty much anything.

We have a saying where I come from: Measure seven times, cut once.

You’ve probably heard something similar. Think twice before you do something.

Well, apparently, twice wasn’t enough where I grew up. We needed seven.

Seven opportunities to reconsider your decisions, calculate the consequences, imagine everything that could possibly go wrong, and then, if you’re still stupid enough to want to do it, go ahead.

So I start my stories with an epilogue.

Because I like to know where I’m going before I invite anyone to come along.

And this time, I already know how the story ends.

I was born with a resting bitch face.

I didn’t know I had one.

That’s it.

That’s the whole story.

Well, not quite.

There are a few years, a few countries, a lot of people, and an impressive number of questionable decisions between those three sentences.

Some of them are funny. Some aren’t. Some I still don’t know what to think about.

But this isn’t a story about how women from my country behave, how they should behave, or why anyone else should understand us.

I’m not speaking for anyone.

I’m speaking for me.

If you’re curious about what’s behind this face, come in. Sit down. Read.

If you’re not interested, scroll. The internet is a big place. I’m sure there’s a cat doing something ridiculous somewhere.

And if you’re here to judge me?

Fuck off.

I’m not looking for a second opinion.

I’m telling a story.

You’re allowed not to like it.

And I’m allowed not to give a fuck.

Now that we’ve established that –

Welcome.