I cannot believe that I now have any experience with this subject, which in the past I have expressed nothing but disdain for.
Disdain, that is, until I tried on a dress that made me appear to be an illustration from “Ghosts of America”. My skin looked like the white underbelly of a fish, blending with the beige of the dress to create the understated yet hideous fashion statement of having a wasting disease.
My daughters go to the tanning salon on a regular basis. “Isn’t it relaxing?” asked Mary Kate.
Here are some of my relaxing thoughts:
Gosh this is loud.
This is really scary.
Is it supposed to be this loud?
Maybe the bed is broken.
I wonder if the girl remembered to set the timer.
Maybe the timer is broken.
Do I have enough bronzer on? I think I don’t have enough bronzer on.
Maybe I have too much bronzer on.
Maybe I will turn orange.
I think she forgot to set the timer.
Gosh it’s getting hot.
Is hair flammable?
I am positive she forgot to set the timer.
Could this bed be defective?
Maybe it’s defective and has freakishly strong UV rays.
Maybe I am going to burst into flames any minute. Starting with my hair.
Agh!! Agh!!! I am going to end up in the burn center swathed in bandages and loaded with IV pain killers.
Actually, now that I mention it, that last part doesn’t sound too bad.
She forgot to set the timer!! I know it, I know it!!! I am going to be immolated, I know it!!! My children will gaze sadly at my charred remains, hold each other and say “I hope she left some money.”
The whole store will burn down and it will be all my fault. It will be known as the “The Great Tanning Disaster of 2008” and will have my name inexorably linked to it because it will turn out I had some weird genetic predisposition to spontaneous combustion when exposed to a tanning bed.
I will not only die a horrible death, but an embarrassing one too.
CLICK!!!!!!! The machine snaps off. Phew!!! I am alive, unscathed and, um… pink.
Alrighty then, all ready for tomorrow!!!