Chapter Six
Bitchy Resting Face
There’s a guy at work who keeps committing a pair of unforgivably sexist sins. I’ve had enough of him and them both. I’m about to teach him a badly needed lesson. Hopefully after this he’ll never again a) hit on me even though I’m gay or b) tell me to ‘smile’ more often.
Apparently I am the owner of what is known as a ‘bitchy resting face’.
Without intending to I present a dour and forbidding visage to the world. But hey, world, maybe I have a reason to look dour. In a society that worships waifs, I’m built like a truck. While not obese by any means, I’m still six-four and solid all the way through: both wide and deep in the trunk and with arms and legs like trees. My coppery hair has never taken to any kind of styling; I have to keep it cut brutally sho
