I Was Born With a Resting Bitch Face – Chapter 5 – That’s for Christmas!

Of course, summer was the cherry on top.

But you could argue that my resting bitch face was just a side effect of growing up in a crowded seaside city.

What about the rest of the country?

Well.

Let’s talk about holidays.

When I moved to Canada, I discovered something fascinating.

Apparently, you can celebrate Christmas without cooking twelve complicated dishes that take several days to prepare.

Who knew?

Where I grew up, Christmas came after New Year’s. And New Year’s was already celebrated like it was the last day on Earth.

So by the time Christmas arrived, you were supposed to be recovered, rested, and ready to do it all over again.

Good luck.

Grocery shopping started months in advance.

And once something was purchased for the holidays, it became untouchable.

“Can I have some?”

“No. That’s for Christmas.”

“But it’s October.”

“AND?”

You could be starving in a house full of food.

All of it was for Christmas.

Then came the cooking.

For days.

And you couldn’t eat the finished dishes either.

Not until the guests arrived.

Because apparently, feeding the people who actually lived in the house wasn’t the priority.

Then came the guests.

And, of course, some stayed overnight.

I remember Christmas at my grandmother’s house with up to twenty people celebrating.

Ten staying overnight.

Twenty people eating.

Ten people sleeping.

And somebody had to figure out where everybody would fit.

Just imagine the face of the woman responsible for all of that.

Smiling?

Exactly.

You finally recover.

You start enjoying your normal life again.

And then –

Easter.

Nine core foods to prepare for the blessing.

And, naturally, a huge table afterward.

Cooking. Cleaning. Hosting. More cooking.

Apparently, holidays were just another way to test how much one woman could manage before losing her mind.

But here’s the funny part.

As a kid, I absolutely loved it.

Those were some of my best memories.

A house full of cousins, most of us around the same age.

Playing hide-and-seek.

Sneaking food we weren’t supposed to touch.

Laughing so hard we had tears running down our faces.

Trying desperately to stay quiet so nobody would catch us.

Which, of course, made everything ten times funnier.

Until we got caught.

And suddenly?

Not one smile.

Not one.

You could still be shaking from laughter, but the second an adult appeared, everybody’s face became very serious.

Especially if we’d been eating something that was for Christmas.

So yes, I smiled as a child.

I laughed a lot, actually.

I just learned pretty early that there was a time to laugh, a time to smile, and a time to look like you’d never experienced happiness in your entire life.

Usually when Grandma asked:

“WHO ATE THIS?”

And honestly?

That face probably saved us more than once.