No Taming This Shrew


Bronzing and the hazards of naked time

To bronze or not to bronze? Whether 'tis nobler in the flesh to suffer the piercing aging rays of yonder golden orb or to bake oneself brown with the paints of man....

I bronze. I am a pale blondey who tans exceedingly well but who is trying to not look like a saddle bag by her next birthday, thereby avoiding the fate of some of my friends. I love the sun, I miss the sun, but I bronze.

The perils of self-tanning are many. You may turn out orange, you may apply unevenly, resulting in an unfortunate animal print on your flesh. Not chic. I am, I like to think, a rather excellent applier of tanners, having been trained in self-applied sunscreening from years of beachy goodness. I am also very bendy, so I don't miss many spots.

The real peril for me is the drying time. After painting yourself brown, you must act as though you have just painted your fingernails, but all over, and not let anything touch your new veneer. Hence, "Naked Time." Got to let the tan "take" while not allowing any part of my skin to touch another part. This requires funny walking and a lot of arm lifting. It looks amusing, I'm told.

Naked time could be cool if not for my neighborhood and my house's many windows. Dudesylvania, near Turtle U, is never quiet, nor are the sidewalks near my bedroom's 12 windows ever empty. This requires the lowering of blinds, or, when I actually need light and air (silly needy Megarita), I must skulk around my house like some naked Boo Radley. (Or Nude Radley? Ha! I need to use that as a screen name someday.)

"She's overreacting," you say. Nay, my good man, for I've been caught before! One fine day soon after moving in I was strolling from the shower to my bedroom, which is a good hike across the apartment. Windows were open, breeze was blowing, I was clean. But not alone, as it turns out. I heard a dudely voice shriek, "HOLY CRAP!" I looked to my left, and saw a very thankful fratster standing on the sidewalk looking directly at me. I made a dive for the floor rarely seen outside of action films. Totally hit it like there was a fire in the hole, but to no avail. (I would like to add that my room has hardwood floors, and that there was some bruising.)

So now I duck and creep and walk funny and sprint around my apartment in the buff for about 30 minutes or until I'm sufficiently bronzed. Or I blog while perched precariously. Thanks for joining me.