Smile The Three Smiles, or, Growl Differently

-
Would you do me a favor? 
It won’t cost a thing.
I promise. 
Humor me. 
Just humor me. 
Please? 
Pretty please? 
With sugar on top? 
And a cherry, too? 
A maraschino cherry? 
An entire jarful? 
Of maraschino cherries?
How about that? 
Hm? 
Eh? 

I have a curious problem and I am desperate for a second opinion. 

I am going to smile — this is totally not a bit, I swear, I pinky swear — and I would like you to observe my smile. Just, please, allow my smile to wash over you. Okay? Oh — and this is important — I am going to smile three different smiles. 

First, I will attempt a closed mouth smile. Following the closed mouth smile, I will undertake two open mouth smiles. 

So: The closed mouth smile first, then an open mouth smile with teeth showing; then, finally, a totally open mouth smile — where, if your vision is strong enough, you should be able to see that thing that hangs down at the back of my mouth. What’s that called? You know, that thing you poke if you want to throw up? Is that all it’s good for? Did the Romans invent that? I know they invented bulimia and the vomitorium. Or one or the other. 

Anyhoo, watch my smile. It won’t be anything special — just three ways that I, for one, smile. 

[HE SMILES THE THREE SMILES.] 

Thank you.
 
Now — that wasn’t the favor. Sorry. What a stupid favor to ask if it was, huh? I mean, it is stupid, sort of, but my favor is not that stupid. 

Anyway, anyway, 
my smiles: 
Did they seem… 
at all… 
phony 
to you? 

You see, a “friend” of mine insists that whenever I smile, I smile dishonestly. 

And I confess, it’s true, I don’t always smile and mean it. But everyone does that. Right? And wouldn’t you agree that it’s odd for a good friend to state something like that right out of the blue?* Regardless, as a result of his “observation,” I am now terrified of smiling at anyone. I don’t want to shake someone’s hand and have them think — as I smile and say “Nice to meet you!” or “Great job!” — I don’t want them to look at me and think: “What a fuckin’ asshole. He doesn’t mean it.”

Did you know that human beings — and perhaps chimps, too — are the only animals that smile to express joy? When any other animal smiles at you, it’s very often coupled with a growl. 

It’d be something if, whenever we (humans) smiled, we also, at the same time, growled. 

“Nice to meet you [GROWL]!”
“Great job [GROWL]!” 
“Oh, thank you very much 
[GROWL DIFFERENTLY]!” 

3 May 2005 

*[03/20/22: It occurs to me now that said “friend” rarely smiled himself.] 

Popular posts from this blog

Peekaboo?

-
Last night, over the phone, Cindi told me that her Coke was looking at her.    I didn’t ask how an aluminum can might’ve sprouted an eyeball. Instead, like any protective beau, I threatened it. “Quit looking at my girlfriend!” I shouted. “She’s waaaay outta your league! And besides, you don’t exist to… to ogle your consumer! You have one job: Contain!”   The can offered neither appeal nor apology.    So, through clenched teeth, I issued this warning: “Keep it up, buster, and I’ll crush you flat under my shoe!”    In sooth,   I said none of that.   What I actually said was,   “What?”   Cindi told me to “never mind.” But I pressed her and, finally, she disclosed what I thought I heard her say. Was the eyeball, I asked, giving her an inquisitive look? The famed " evil " or " stink " eye, perhaps? Might it be a look of surprise? Or fear? No, she told me. It was merely looking at her, with no particular look.  “Ah. Well. Good !” I said. “Gives me something to jot down
Read more

Potted

-
Where I live, there’s this plant. It’s inside the house. It looks more like a small tree than your garden-variety house plant. But instead of a tree, I’m calling it a plant. Because it’s potted. And it doesn’t really have branches. So it’s more of a tree-wannabe. It “looks” out the window all day long at all the tall trees out there. And it’s envious. Or is it grateful? Whichever, this much is clear: The flora on the flip side of that window has yard-cred. And we all want cred of some kind, don’t we? ‘Cause if we’re not cred, we’re crud.  But this tree-wannabe’s always been right there, where it is, all of my life. Right there, in that pot, in that room. “The library,” Pop calls it. It’s got two shelves of books, so I guess it qualifies. Said tree-wannabe hasn’t gotten any taller; hasn’t gotten any shorter, either. Nobody ever mentions it. Pop walks into the “library” only when he’s looking for a stamp or a paperclip. He’s a paper reader. Newspapers and magazines. Books are too much of
Read more

Use The Hole

-
Nearly everywhere coffee is served in this country you’ll find what we, at Chicago Coffee Cadre #7, call a “mixing station.” I.e., a stand where a patron finds plasticware, wooden stirring rods, a variety of sweetener packets, and creamer carafes. Additionally, our mixing stations (we have two) each feature a hole, six inches in diameter. Said hole exists as the opening above a hidden receptacle. Said receptacle awaits the rubbish that results from the addition of whatever you put into your coffee.  [If this is, indeed, you, have you ever considered just how many white / brown / pink / green / yellow / powder blue paper packets of sweetener you’ve ripped open and discarded in your lifetime? What if you had to keep all of those packets with you for the rest of your days? How on Earth would you ever get by if all idiotic “single-use” things—like sweetener packets and mixing rods—were outlawed?]  Most patrons of CCC #7 understand and appreciate the function of the hole in our respective
Read more