Jon Leuer looked unhappily at his reflection in the mirror. He had been noticing things for the past few weeks that were becoming harder and harder to ignore. Standing straight up, he let his face rest in a neutral position; seeing the reflected image of this made him wince. He could no longer deny it:
He had a stupid-looking face. It was like he was the product of twenty generations of Alabama inbreeding. When he opened his mouth to simulate in-game tiredness, the effect was amplified. Now he looked like an inbred Alabama hick attempting to understand basic math problems.
Shaking his head, he now could understand all the women who complained about “resting bitch face”. But this was worse. All that a bitch face would do is deter men. His “resting dumb face” would deter men and women alike and forever hamper his ability to sign big contracts. People on the street assumed him to possess below-average intelligence, and every interaction he had ever undertaken with another human being had been tainted by his too-fat cheeks and protruding forehead.
He wondered if his agent thought he was a dummy. He wondered if his teammates thought he was a dummy. They probably did. He certainly looked the part of one, even though he had graduated college and was probably smarter than the average basketball player.
Turning away from the mirror, he looked into the bathtub filled with twenty dollar bills, just a fraction of his yearly salary. Sadness melting away instantly, he stripped off his clothes and again frolicked in the fruits of his labor.