The sun and I have been having an ongoing battle for as long as I can remember. I’m all, like, “please make me so brown that no one can tell my original race,” and the sun is all, like, “I’m going to fry you until people mistake you for an over-sized lobster.” (I should also mention at this point that I was born with claws and a meaty tail.)
It’s not like I haven’t tried to compromise with the sun. I mean I’ve gone as far as to wear SPF 90 on any days when the forecast gives less than a 100 percent chance of rain. I walk on the shady side of the street on the way to work and I always wear white t-shirts on all the slides at the water parks. All I’m asking for in return is a 3-month hiatus from my lifelong case of albino-ism.
This past weekend was the first really nice weekend in New York City. It was around 70, which meant that I was trading in my boots for flats. And unfortunately for my eyes, it meant the tourists were trading in their I LOVE NY shirts for ill-fitting rompers and aqua socks. I, being the perpetual optimist (that was my middle school screen name, perpetualoptimist69), applied my facial sunscreen, grabbed a blanket, and headed for the park in an attempt to tan.
I left the park 6 hours later looking like I let a drunken 4-year old apply sunscreen to me. I didn’t just burn. I burnt in patches and splotches and geometric shapes. In a neat turn of events, I’m pretty sure there’s a 666 burnt into the back of my thigh right now. But I can’t be sure because my neck is too burnt to turn around and look. 7 of my fingers are burnt, half of my left calf is burnt, a 3 inch star on my forehead is burnt, and my knees are burnt. Needless to say, the sun was a little stronger than I realized.
And because my body rejects any attempts I make to look more attractive, I’m sure this burn will stay around for a while. And then, after it has ruined countless Facebook profile picture opportunities, it will fade into a tan that won’t go away until September. Which means I’ll have to spend my summer debating between wearing long pants or walking around with a multi-colored thigh. And considering I’m not Michael Jackson (although that would be quite the twist!), I’m not really into that look.
At the moment I’m banking on this new health care bill completely to fix this little problem I have with the sun. Maybe I’ve read it all wrong, but I vaguely recall page 1,107 saying something about “and all people will be attractively tan year round.”