A few weeks ago in a VERY loving conversation, the man I am going to spend the rest of my life with pointed out that I look like Casper the Friendly Ghost's twin sister in photos, and suggested I might want to consider getting a tan to bring me to the skin coloring of Caucasians who DON'T glow in the dark for the wedding photos. He does have a point--in any pictures involving flashes I look slightly paler than death, and am so pale normally that doctors regularly insist on testing me for anemia (and those who know my great fear of having blood taken can guess what THIS does to my alabaster complexion....and my vertical hold). So Friday night my brave MS of Honor and I (without the aid of alcohol) ventured into a tanning salon. In the past I have had some success with self-tanning lotions, but have always been afraid to use it on my face after a very nasty episode of wearing long sleeves in 100+ weather to cover my new striped appearance, so tanning lotions were out. I have always been a little leary of tanning beds, which has now been seriously reinforced by my experiences with Andy's toaster oven. So, aside from trying to give myself skin cancer, the only option remaining was to go get sprayed (ala Ross in "Friends"). Getting painted by a machine was daunting enough--it turns out that our tans were to be applied by a human--a man, to make it even more unnervinging. Call me old-fashioned, but I think the only man who needs to be that close to me while I'm in a swimming suit is Andy, or possibly a lifeguard if I have come close to drowning.
The process must be similar to what it feels like to be a backyard fence. The spray is sticky, somewhat cold, and tinted brown so one can see immediate results. I would have forgone the immediate results to have not spent the rest of the evening leaving brown smudges on everything. Granted, when I walked out of the studio, I looked great. As the evening wore on, however, I started looking stranger & stranger as the brown tint wore off & the "permanent" tan hadn't quite taken effect. I looked a bit like a Guernsey cow, to be honest. To give the dye time to "stick," you can't shower for 8-10 hours after being stained, so the sticky brown smudging experience was destined to last the entire evening. For the first time in my life, I actually watched paint dry.
So, the results? Supposedly the "tan" can last for up to two weeks, although that might be referring to the part that has caused my toenails to look like I have jaundice. With people like me who have incredibly dry skin, I'd give it 5 days at the outside. Still, it is sort of fun to have the first really good tan I've had since the sun went from being healthy to the instrument of skin cancer delivery. Out of sheer perverse curiosity, sometime later this summer I'll have to attempt the automated booth shellacing for comparison. Sue has wisely declined to be part of the further tanning adventures....Maybe I'll bring along part of our fence for company!
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