Characters Portrayed by Me

Brittany — Mon, 27 Apr 2026 13:56:11 GMT

There are a lot of things people say that sound like concern on the surface but— if translated honestly— they mean something more backhanded.

I’ve decided there are certain phrases that deserve a more honest translation and a little less faux-solicitude.

Things like:
“You look tired.”
“You’re in a mood.”
“You’re quiet today.”
And my personal favorite— the classic attempt to recede and retract after accidentally revealing oneself negatively:
“I was kidding.”

So I made a collection… a translation collection. Honestly, these are public service translations.

You’re welcome.

Pretty little watercolor portraits paired with those comments that sound normal— until you’ve actually lived inside a face while someone says them— and the suspiciously snide remark your clocking underneath. The honest translation.

Some are subtle. Some blunt. Some are just me trying to make myself laugh instead of committing a felony. (Only joking…)

All of them are based on real expressions, real comments, and real moments where people said something “technically polite” but it was see-through nonetheless.

And because I enjoy being both self-aware and mildly ridiculous—all characters are played by me. Unfortunately.

Tired me.

Unimpressed me.

Fake-smiling me.

“I’m fine” me.

The one whose silence is suspicious.

The one whose face says don’t start with me right now before her mouth even opens.

Maybe I’ll make it a series— my face has range. Don’t blame me, blame everyone else for being so translatable.

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Characters Portrayed by Me

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What’s a phrase people say that deserves a more honest translation?

I Was Hungry, So I Chose Denial

Brittany — Sun, 19 Apr 2026 09:16:44 GMT

🛑TW: The following content contains images of clustered holes/patterns that may be uncomfortable or distressing to those with trypophobia.

I stood in the kitchen, staring at my flatbread like it had personally wronged me.
Because it kind of did.

It sat on the baking sheet in all of its blistered, puckered, suspicious glory, looking less like dinner and more like something that should’ve been examined by a doctor specializing in infectious diseases.

It had holes. It had lumps. It had what looked like little folded growths. And it actually made me very, very, VERY uncomfortable.
I have a mild case of Trypophobia. Trypophobia is an intense aversion toward clusters of small holes, bumps, or patterns. It’s a phobia but it doesn’t really trigger fear— it triggers disgust. For me it’s feelings of discomfort, anxiety, and sometimes nausea

If you can look at this flatbread and not feel disgusted— congrats, you’re normal!

.

So for a hot minute, I actually considered not even eating it. But then I remembered who the fuck I was.

A woman.
Mostly just a HUNGRY woman.
With buffalo chicken.
A bag of mozzarella.
Shredded lettuce.
Ranch.

And, most importantly, an appetite. A big one. HUGE. ADHD meds suppress the apetite all day so when the drop in levels of dopamine and norepinephrine hit, I am starving. It doesn’t take long until I’m approaching hangry status.

So I did what any strong, resilient, hungry person would do in a moment of crisis: I closed my eyes and went on assembling.

Buffalo chicken first. Heavy-handed of course, because healing.
Mozzarella next, because obviously.
Then lettuce to give the whole thing the illusion of freshness and stability.
Then ranch, drizzled like a creamy lie over the top of my discomfort.

The image was still burned into my head even though it had been covered by deliciousness. I held my breath a little before I took the first bite. Then I chewed slowly as I literally had to convince myself to stop thinking about the flatbread’s texture, about its lesions and its deeply unsettling appearance. I would not be robbed of the buffalo-chicken-ranch experience I deserved.

Was it ugly? God yes.
Did it look like it probably needed antibiotics? Maybe.
But it was delicious.

And sometimes that’s just life.

Sometimes your flatbread disgusts you. Sometimes it activates a mild cringe response from deep within your nervous system. Sometimes you have to close your eyes and cover the offenses with cheese and sauce and proceed like nothing happened.

Because you’re fucking hungry. Because dinner isn’t for the weak. And because denial, when properly seasoned, is a damn powerful thing.

And that is how the flatbread inflicted panic on me.
And I chose to eat it anyway.
Not with joy or trust, no.
But with ranch.

🗣️ Trypophobia Support Group Anyone?

…IYKYK and IYK then I feel ya! 🫶🏻

Sparkplug Letters: A Soulbirth Project: Pretty Weird