I am an extremely expressive person, always talking with my hands and making wild facial expressions through every conversation. I even change my tone and inflection multiple times and often mid-sentence, trying to infuse as much life as possible in every encounter. But there is one thing I cannot do.
I cannot wink.
It’s true, dear reader. I am a weird winker.
Whenever I wink I wink with my entire face. My eye and cheek scrunching up unnaturally, my mouth opening wide in an odd, hungry smile. I always hold the wink too long, freezing my face like a fun-house mirror. Often times I will add a thumbs up in an attempt to distract from the strange contortions of my face.
It’s a bit of a sore spot for me because winking has always seemed extremely cool and is my most coveted facial expression.
It’s just so cheeky and mischievous. And adorable.
But alas, it’s just not meant to be.
And just in case you think I am exaggerating I have a side note and a story for you:
Side Note: Me? Exaggerate? How absurd! It is preposterous! Absurdly preposterous! Preposterously absurd!
Story: Last week while at work I was having an “on” day where everything I touched turned to gold. (Not literally, that would get awkward once the initial excitement wore off and I realized I couldn’t eat golden yogurt.) Things were all coming up Sarah and I was feeling pretty darn good, even my hair looked adorable and not at all balding!
Around noon my boss came in and made a joking comment. I don’t remember exactly what she said but it set me up for the perfect comeback which could only be said with a wink and I was more than excited to deliver, temporarily forgetting my own limitations in the excitement of my “Good Day”.
I gave it my all, feeling oh so cheeky and mischievous. And adorable.
But my wink was met with silence and my confidence came crashing down.
Cautiously my boss spoke, breaking the silence and concern tinging her voice. “Did something just fall in your eye? There’s something going on with your face.”
I flushed a red so deep it was almost purple (which incidentally matched my mustard coloured cardigan quite well so at least I had that going for me) and mumbled something incoherently, turning back to my computer.
My boss left the office, the moment forgotten.
Well, forgotten by her. I spent the next ten minutes (or really, if I am being honest, the next few days) winking into every reflective surface in a vain attempt at practicing before sadly giving up.
Some things are just not meant to be.