THINGS THAT MAKE ME SMILE

After reading this, I think you’ll guess what finger that is in the photo above.

Things that make me smile:

1. Hearing “Your table is ready.”
2. A cup of coffee, a brand new magazine and 30 uninterrupted minutes to enjoy them both.
3. The words “Boat day” followed by “Wine spritzers” (Don’t judge me wine snobs. Spritzers are the perfect summer/boat drink – they keep you hydrated while providing you with the perfect light buzz).
4. Puppies and kittens (because I’m a human, not a robot).

Things that do not make smile:

1. Being told “Smile” (or any variation, including “You’d be prettier if you’d smile” or “You should smile more.”)

When a stranger, almost always a man, tells me to smile I’m reminded of the “St. Mark’s” episode of Broad City and wish I had the guts to go full Abbi and Ilana on the jackass who thinks it’s okay to tell a woman to smile. Because let’s be honest: no one is telling men to smile. Or, “You’re so handsome. Why don’t you smile?” Side note: If you’re not watching Broad City – start immediately. Unless you’re my mother. You’d be horrified, Mary Ann.

Anyhow, back to the issue of being told to smile. I am part owner of a restaurant and yes, I need to be the cheerful face of barVino. But it would also be creepy as f*#$ if I walked around all the time with a smile plastered all over my face. AND there are lots times when I’m walking through the restaurant thinking (1) I need to tell the staff that the Brussel sprouts are 86-ed (2) table 24 needs to be cleared and reset (3) there are guests in the wine store – who can get over there? (4) the six-top at table 7-9 just ordered drinks and I need to write them down before I forget and (5) where the hell is the food runner – so occasionally, yes, it’s hard to keep a smile on my face while also keeping all that information straight in my head (and trying not focusing on the fact that I need to use the bathroom, but haven’t had a chance to do so in the last two hours).

And while it’s really not acceptable to tell a server or bartender to smile, it creeps into things-that-make-me-want-to-choke-someone-out territory when I’m walking down a street, minding my own business, and a perfect stranger, always a man, decides to tell me how my face should look.

As Iliana and Abbi would say: