No, not this, the face. Read the face. Pissed off is written all over it.
It’s been my experience that faces are bigger talkers than mouths. Trust me, I know; I’m afflicted with both. What my face doesn’t say, my mouth does, the trigger-happy son of a gun. But my face is the real troublemaker here. It’s an obnoxious blabbermouth; yap-yap, yap-yap-yap all day long. I can’t shut the thing up.
What can I do, wear a bag over my head? Gee, that wouldn’t look suspicious, would it? Nah, try it. Walk into a bank with a bag over your head. Or wearing a hood. Yeah, talk your way out of that one, Houdini. Me, I’d talk my way straight into a 30-year prison sentence. I’ll pass.
So you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to stick to e-mails and texting. There’ll be none of this face-to-face crap. No phone calls, either; no voice mails, no selfies, nothing. Email and text — that’s it. Oh, maybe the occasional card, but that’s where I draw the line. Understand?
I don’t trust my face and my mouth is a genuine loose cannon, so I’m putting a sock in it — so to speak. I’ll still post, of course, courtesy of the ‘delete’ key. That’s my absolute favorite button, delete. It gives you the satisfaction of saying what you want to say exactly the way you want to say it, without the unfortunate consequences. I love that.
You lucky stiffs with impassive, unreadable expressions don’t know how easy you have it. Your mugs can actually keep a secret. They don’t go around spilling their guts, well, your guts, really. Some of them are as tight-lipped and inscrutable as a sphinx. I want a face like that, a poker face. I’d love to keep my thoughts to myself just once in my life.
And a pink unicorn, too, as long as we’re at it.
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