When I am well and truly grumpy it is, unfortunately, obvious.
If the smoke coming out of my ears doesn’t clue you in, you can always listen for overly stomp-y footfalls or the slamming of cupboard doors. As if that’s not enough, I also turn into a yell-er. And not just any yell-er, oh no, I turn into my mother. I yell at people (and, yes, by “people” I mean my kids) with the same horridly ineffective, high pitched, squeaky voice that I always used to laugh at.
Even by sight I look grumpy, more disheveled than normal, (probably from the stomping and the slamming) and my arms have a tendency to wave and flail about when I talk (to further ineffectively accentuate the squeaks) and my face is not a welcoming one.
When Jane is well and truly grumpy she turns quiet, becomes fairly unapproachable and looks like this:
Maybe I need fairy wings?