Summer is here. Which means I finally have an excuse to strip down the minute I walk into my apartment. It’s hot as hell in my little princess pad. Last night my bedroom was 95 degrees, and nothing justifies being naked more than 95 degrees.
I love soaking up the sun. Nothing makes me happier than roasting myself tan. However, I’ve learned my lesson. Two summers ago I had to have some spots on my back removed that were direct results of a lifetime spent in the sun. Listen up: WEAR SUNSCREEN BITCHES! Now, I look around at all the tanned bodies and find myself envious. Saturday I finally broke down and tried the sunless spray tanning at a local salon.
OH MY GOD! For the life of me I cannot figure out why I waited so long to try it. It looks as close to real as my cancer fearing self will allow.
There was only one small incident… the very Mormon looking girl who showed me how the machine worked forgot to warn me how cold the spray would be when it hit me. I screeched so loudly I think they thought the Second Coming had arrived. And oddly enough, I was totally fine with the thought of Jesus walking through the doors to the tanning salon. If there is a Jesus, and he comes to earth I want to look my very best. Perhaps if I look hot enough, he can overlook all that sinning I’ve been busy with.