Tuesday, July 1, 2008


I didn't know any better in high school.

I know better now.

It used to be skipping class to head over to the tanning salon. (Remember, Meri?) Now, it's SPF 40, a big floppy hat, giant sunglasses, a sweat suit, socks, boots, and a trench coat. (Okay, I did what I do: a bit of exaggeration on the last four; I'm far too committed to getting my required Vitamin D to don all that protective garb, and you should be too.) And it's a tidy convenience that my husband prefers my skin pale. (He says "fair," but dude, it's pale!)

Tanning beds are cancer coffins. Tanning salons are dens of melanoma. Yet there they stand, one in every single shopping plaza you pass.

I'm often tempted to storm into those wretched establishments and scream, How do you people sleep at night?!

I refrain. And that's a win for me, for though I restrict my sun access, I don't often govern my mouth.


Lindsay said...

I have to say though...tan fat looks better than white fat. That's why I go!!

cat+tadd=sam said...

I'm with Lindsay on this one!

M to the E to the R to the I said...

Heck ya I remember, I still owe you $$ for that. Ha ha.