I do not know what possessed me to walk into a tanning salon yesterday afternoon. It could have been the disappointment of a fading tan that looked less radiant lately than ever. I signed up, paid a couple of bucks, and took a 15 minutes session in the bed.
I thank God now I planned a little for the event because had I not worn underwear, I would be typing this standing up. My torso is fried. My stomach is about as red as an August tomato. The half of my chest that was unexposed to sun because of my bathing suit? Also red. My lower back? Red. A few more minutes and you would have been able to serve me quite nicely with some beans and potatoes. I look like a ham.
Yesterday afternoon, I told Dave I was feeling really hot. I had not let him in on the tanning bed secret yet, so his response was a twisted expression and the response of, “you felt hot when I hugged you.” I am still radiating enough heat to warm the house through the winter. I think the dog avoided sleeping on the bed with me last night because my heat penetrated so widely she resorted to the floor again. Even with my cooling aloe gel and fan on high, my dog still felt no love for me.
I write now because I am only trying to delay the pinprick shower I will have to take and then the pain of a bra. The law school needed tour guides and panelists, and so I cannot hole up in the bedroom naked with the fan and aloe all day. This is my punishment for breaking the laws of a pale body.