My mother was an elementary grade school teacher before she got married and stopped “working” – as women were expected to behave in those days. Her school principal said she was the best arithmetic teacher he had ever had on his staff. That was because - she told me in one of the few reminiscent moments she ever indulged in - because she was so bad at it herself. She said had to prepare each lesson carefully for fear of making a mistake.

Ah, the three Rs, only one of which is a genuine R. Reading, ‘Riting and ‘Rithmetic (taught to the rule of a hickory stick), used to form the basic foundation of an education. Arithmetic became Mathematics and then Calculus and I don’t know what now. (Computer Science?) Writing, of course, has become cursive as far as the physical act is concerned, or narcissistic and self-indulgent and very occasionally awesome when it comes to a literary effort.

I went to a convent school for my early education, being admitted at the age of 5 to something like a kindergarten when such a thing did not exist in the Winnipeg School system. I moved on to a sort of public school (a very small local school) at the end of Grade Four, before I reached long division. Pity. The nuns drilled speed addition in to me (not with a hickory stick but with a guilt-inducing pointer) that stays with me to this day. I am much faster at making change than the average store clerk who has to wait till the computer on her cash register tells her what coins to return. Not that it matters. Money is disappearing. It used to be called legal tender.

legal tender: noun [ mass noun ] coins or banknotes that must be accepted if offered in payment of a debt.

Now it’s called a credit or a debit card; very seldom does cash or a cheque settle a debt.

One would have thought that once machines took over numbers, no mistakes would ever be made. No more human error! What a fond idea that was. Now mistakes are not made in human lapses of judgment or calculation but in physical slips of the fingers on the keys, and they’re harder to catch.

And oh then the time and frustration it takes to correct an error! I won’t try to give you examples. You have your own to cite. Don’t tell me.

O wad some Power the giftie gie us

To see oursels as ithers see us!

It wad frae mony a blunder free us,

An' foolish notion:

What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,

An' ev'n devotion!

"To A Louse, On Seeing One on a Lady's Bonnet at Church" 1786 Scots language poem by Robert Burns (1759-1796)

Now we seemingly have the power to see ourselves – constantly – thanks to the giftie known as a selfie. I do think that most people put on a mask for their selfie images: a smiling face, tilted at the best angle. It’s not the real you or me depicted there, it’s a projected self as we want to be seen. Not like the RBF.

“For those who need a review, RBF is a face that, when at ease, is perceived as angry, irritated or simply … expressionless.” Aug 1, 2015 (Jessica Bennett, NYT)

Everyone knows that by now, I’m sure. It even made it into a cartoon in the New Yorker. RBF is short for Resting Bitch Face and though the definition was applied originally to women, it fits men, too, but they get away with it. A man with an RBF is considered stern, or thoughtful, perhaps tired, solemn, but not bitchy. Women, after all, are supposed to be compliant and smiling.

In my travelling days, I mean for business, publicity tours and meetings and such, when I was intent on getting on a plane, or through customs, or meeting someone with a placard, I was often greeted by a (male) steward or official with a command to smile. I doubt that a man has ever received such an exhortation from a stranger.

I was thinking of this because of International Women’s Day last week, and of another techie tool. I used to own a small tape recorder for my professional use. I guess now the iPhone takes care of sound as well as selfie. The fact is, I used my tape only once at a meeting.

I was attending a creative conference with two producers who were interested in a television idea I was working on with another writer (male). I took my recorder in to the meeting to be sure to remember everything we were saying, as it was a real brainstorming session. I listened to the recording only once after the meeting was over. I couldn’t bear to listen to it. I was scarcely present on the tape. The men talked over and around me and ignored what I said. Several times I suggested an idea to be met with a silent pause. Then a few minutes after that, one of the men would voice an idea I had just offered, to be met with approval. I had heard of this but I didn’t believe it until it happened to me.

If you complained or shouted or sulked or came out with an ultimatum you were a bitch. No wonder you developed an RBF. My mother used to say you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

Things haven’t changed that much.