It looks like a river ran through it

Some rights reserved by kavehkhkh

I commute into Philly 5 days a week, 4 weeks—sometimes 5—a month. I schlep out of the PATCO tunnels, round a couple city blocks, and board a shuttle bus to my office (after a short stop at my favorite caffeine dealer). It's usually 7:40 a.m. by the time I make it into the City of Brotherly Love, and sure, sometimes I'm barely awake.

It's a similar story for my commute home, just in reverse and sans coffee. Schlep in, schlep out, rah rah rah. Nonetheless, I manage to keep a pleasant, yet neutral, look on my face for the majority of the time. And you know what, it's not that hard and my skin will thank me for it 20 years down the road.

I just don't get the women I see in Philly, with their Coach bags, neat string of pearls, smart suits and sunglasses affixed to the top of their perfectly coiffed heads; or the not-so-pulled together women. Both groups always with the same accessory, no matter the economic status: a hellacious frown.

I'm not talking slight furrowed brow and down-turned corners of the lips here. I mean full-on "I think I smell shit" look, with massive frown lines imitating fledgling river canyon fissures. It's pretty ridiculous and often  mind-boggling. I mean, c'mon, it's 7:42 a.m. on a fairly non-humid yet sunny day in Philly—how bad can it be? Do you really need to look like you might suddenly morph into the Incredible Hulk and tear someone apart? I don't get it.

I can totally get behind neutral looks and sunglasses in place to avoid unwanted conversations with the less desirable mass transit patrons; I'm sure we all can. But ladies, the ugly frown is OUT. Relax your brow, unpurse your lips and let it go.

Unless, of course, you're looking forward to Botox.