Before you say it. No, this is not a soppy feminine post.  Have a little faith.

The biologists say it takes more muscles to smile than pulling off your best impression of ‘bah humbug’. I’d like to suggest they add one to the total.

Was in Woolies the other day, waiting to pass two old bats who were complaining that their favourite tinned prunes were not in stock (actually right in front of them, but hey such is old age).  An attractive woman waiting to pass from the other-side of the isle smiled at me and nodded in their direction. By the time the nerve synapses kicked into gear and the atrophied muscles in my face responded, I was back in the car driving home.

So much for muscle memory. I’m referring to that lump of grey muscle in the old brain bin. How many of us walk around with that dead pan ‘Pale Rider‘ scowl on our faces all day. I know I do. The act of smiling is like firing up a donkey boiler three hours before you want to take a luke warm shower in the bush.

It’s not like I am perpetually unhappy and have nothing to smile about. I have plenty. So why is my brain giving my face that ‘piss-off I am not interested look’?

Maybe we are all distracted by other things. Maybe it’s a defence mechanism against all the things the day throws at us… Don’t you dare squirt that crap on my windscreen. No, I don’t have spare change, get away from my window. I am an atheist, get that book of vegetarian recipes away from me. Honk honk. Oh god, old people shouldn’t be allowed near cars. Bloody network people digging up the roads. No, I don’t need any more feather dusters, you sold me one two days ago! Why the hell can’t he just shut up, he told me this story three times already, is he senile or something.

Ok, I am a natural grump. Glass is half empty kinda guy. That’s me, take it or leave it. I have a genetic attitude problem. I disguise it as a will to be pleasantly surprised rather than horribly disappointed. Maybe I am just pathetic at hiding my inner thoughts.

One thing I do know, I need to smile more. Perhaps there is a class at the gym. Ladies, all repeat after me.. I must I must improve my… smile. Or what about one of those laughing groups – I’d be a challenge unless they let us sit around and watch Monty Python reruns and drink copious amounts of alcohol (not in that order obviously).

One thing is for sure, there is nothing more attractive than a confident, smiling face.



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