As a child of the late 70’s, early 80’s I spent the majority of the daylight hours outside practically naked playing in the sun.
The evenings spent in bitter rivalry with my brother trying to peel the greatest amount of skin in one sheet from each others bodies.
I won. I always won. The trick is to do it slooooooow and from many angles.
The mid to late eighties were my teens, and most summer days you would find me slathered in baby oil and laying on FOIL in the yard.
Geez, how I would have loved one of these… I had to DIY.
Or in a bath of Pinetarsol. (OH GOD I CAN STILL SMELL IT)
Then vacuuming up piles of crispy skin shed from my peeling shoulders while I slept.
I loved the way the sun would bleach my hair and burn my cheeks making my green eyes sparkle.
I loved the look of tanned legs against my white school socks and far too short white and green school dress.
I SUFFERED for my beauty because besides the pain of roasting myself like a Christmas turkey (emphasis on the TURKEY) I deplore the heat.
Anything over 25C and I am stripping naked and counting down the days till winter.
And then I discovered clubbing.
Nights spent dancing. Days spent sleeping.
No time for sun-worshipping and no money for tanning beds.
And no fucker can see your tan under those lights and the eight layers of makeup anyway. More cash for slutty outfits and taxi fares.
Then I got pregnant.
And suntanning became priority number 8 million and four, right under letting Boo wax my eyebrows and above roof tiling.
I embraced the witchy/vampiric look with my dark brown hair and green eyes.
Totes on trend before my time.
Fast forward to yesterday when I hightailed it outside to spray the fuck out of the weeds (but not this bastard cause, well read the comments… *sigh*) cause we finally had a break in the rain. Being the first warm day in months I was unprepared for the assault to my delicate not been in the sun sans SPF for like 20+ years skin.
Sure, my skin is only a light shade of pink and will probably turn brown by tomorrow.
Nowhere near the burnt to a crisp heights of my youth, but pink enough for me to look like I have gone a little nuts with the blusher.
And my face feels tight and hot.
I have slathered enough Jurlique to ensure I don’t peel. Hopefully.
I can’t believe I used to do this shit ON PURPOSE.
It’s time I got a fucking gardner.
It is a medical necessity now. Obvs.
P.S. Anyone get spray tans? Can I still get one without destroying my gorgeous white sheet? Or the filter in the spa which is totally getting hooked up soon OMG HUZZAH!?
P.P.S. Fucking shoulder is itchy. If I peel and it is more than the size of a fifty cent piece I get to punch my brother in the face. Pity for me he lives in Sydney. MPS will have to suffice.