WHITE WASHED

During my period of unemployment, I have discovered the joys of the complex pool closest to us. I especially love reading a good book by the pool in the early afternoon, when the pool is least crowded. HOWEVER, I do feel a major source of discomfort when others come to the pool. This is because I stand out at a pool in the early afternoon, or more accurately, I blind others with my brightness. Regardless of my efforts with multiple bottles of sunless tan a year, my Powder-esqness is not diminished in the slightest (Thanks to the movie of the same name, Powder was my high-school nickname). I know I shouldn't be so self concious. I would love to think others don't notice, but years of taunting by the tannable have taught me otherwise. Plus, it doesn't help that our complex is full of young singles, and the pool is the main meat market in which to meet and greet.

Through the years, the kind hearted and helpful have suggested the tanning salon with many other vices. But, the fact remains, the only color I change to is red, if I don't apply an inch or two of SPF 100. After the red receeds, I am not left with a golden glow, but rather a pasty white, with a nice speckling of many freckles. Sure, back in the day (read 1800s or dark ages) my skin would have been something to admire - Oh, look at Christy's alabaster brillance - how she outshines the rest of us. Okay, I couldn't resist that last bit. Alas, such days are gone, but then again, if I lived back then, I wouldn't have a blog to complain to.

~Christy (your pasty blogger friend)