Let me take you way back to yesterday afternoon, when after a punishing Pilates class, I decided to treat myself to something delicious and sugary (the calories don’t count if you stuff yourself right after working out, right?). So I headed over to the Wafels and Dinges truck, an amazing mobile Belgian waffle vendor that usually parks itself near my school on Mondays.

Maybe my eyes were watering from the 32-degree weather, or maybe I was looking anxious because of all the stuff I had to get done later that day. For whatever reason, though, when I stepped up to get my waffle, the dude working the truck took a look at my face and started clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said. “Why don’t you smile?”

I was taken aback. Why was this guy assuming that there was something wrong with me just because the sides of my mouth didn’t happen to be turned up? And even if I had been upset, what made him think he had the right to pry into the personal life of a total stranger? I stuttered something vague and grabbed my food, happy to get the hell away from that truck. And, okay, still psyched to eat an awesome waffle. Read More »