Resting bitch face

Hallion clothing

My friend suggested lunch out.  

The restaurant manager is scary, I could never invite her to dance!  I said. I had just assumed one of the waitresses was the manageress. She was loud, terrifyingly confident, dominating every situation. I tried for a long time to get the bill, turning in my seat. Even while I was looking for eye contact I realised I was actually avoiding it.

You try! I said. She had the bill within two minutes. She looked prettily submissive as she made the request across the room. How do you do that?! I said amazed.   My dad taught me, she said, smiling.

Another friend who dances is feminine, mischievous, outrageous and funny. She has sparkling, wicked eyes and an irreverent laugh. She is very attractive, has the figure of a teenager and looks twenty years younger than she probably is. She can get just about any guy she wants.  It was she who taught me that there is often more to looking than just looking.

We were in a milonga in Arnhem, talking about men.

I've seen that guy at milongas all week I said indicating a tall, well built man. I think I saw him on previous trips too. I liked his dance. It was quiet and his embrace looked gentle, warm and safe. He knew many people and danced a lot. He looks my way, but he doesn’t invite. Quite often his looks are black, or dark anyway. I don’t know what it means. 

She must have got an invitation from him easily because later she passed me in the gangway to the floor as we were going opposite ways. She held on to me for a moment and whispered: He’s going to ask you. 

- Oh! I said, surprised and pleased. But I was in no rush to go looking and figured it would happen at the right time. Later, I caught up with her: So why now, I said and not on previous days? 
- I don't think he knew you wanted to dance with him.
 - He must have known!  He has seen me looking.  
She rolled her eyes. Yes, but did you smile? 

  - No! I said, as though so much must be obvious. 

-   Well then! You probably had on your resting bitch face, she said, laughing. 

Another friend said much later: Don’t you see! You need to smile at them, not kill them off with a murderous glance! 

- It’s a defensive habit! I objected. It’s how you fend off the bad dancers! 

- Maybe, she said.  Then, as though explaining something to a rather slow child who ought to know better:   It's also how you fend them all off!

In the event there wasn’t a right time. I was chatting to a guy who had just invited me to a vals I did not want to dance, being nervous of a dance with much pivoting with guys I don’t know. I had suggested we dance a tango instead so we stayed where we were. Within seconds the tall guy invited from further down the room. Good dancers in the milonga suddenly like buses! No number one wants for ages then suddenly just what one is looking for arrive together.  He looked and smiled, three times.  That focus and his face transformed as though the clouds had parted and sunshine broken through was so unfamiliar that even though I had been alerted, I was still surprised. I must have done a double-take the first time. He held my gaze the second time When, like a beginner I mouthed Me? still surprised, he smiled again and nodded. 

If I were just to turn him down he would not ask again. So I had to go explain I would love to dance, but could not just then. A bit later I passed him as I was leaving the floor. The friend I was leaving with was talking about going shortly so it was now or never. Heart in my mouth at the impropriety, reluctant and not, I asked casually if he still wanted to dance. They do this a lot in the Netherlands I excused myself, hating my dissembling heart.  

- Yes, he said.   The music began. Oh, but it’s a foxtrot! I said, suddenly unwilling under those circumstances. Hearing the music, his face fell, likewise. Another time, I said, leaving, saying to myself, See!  You should have just left it.  Things would have sorted themselves out.  But I had had so little dancing that week.  So little good dancing, which is the same thing, for me.

Later, I told a guy friend about resting bitch face:

Oh yeh, I've seen that… You're famous for it…

I was aghast.  He said he was joking but I knew that even if there was truth there he would not say. Besides, I had recognised truth enough already.