My skin has never been exceptionally kind to me. As a small child, I proved to be the true progeny of the Mole King and Queen. Chickenpox ruined my 5th grade Christmas. Then there were the acne years. In one of truly rare happy skin coincidences of my life, my skin finally cleared up around the time I met my boyfriend.
I am of peaches and cream complexion, hold the peaches. To say I am pale is an understatement. A college classmate assessed the situation correctly when he deemed me pale enough to be British.
Yesterday I did something foolish.
I spent 5 hours in/around a pool in Southern California. The closest I look to British is that of a tourist. Crustacean is the more appropriate classification. Waterproof, sweatproof 45 SPF my ass (which is one of the few parts of me that remains pale.)
Last night I tried sleeping on my stomach, but the tops of my thighs were burned. Same for my back. And my shoulders. The combined effect being that there is no longer a position that I can sleep in comfortably. I am a tosser and turner. And every time I tossed and turned, it was agony. There's nothing like waking constantly in pain. Though waking up with the stomach flu was worse.
The only part of my back left unsinged is where my hair hung down, yesterday being one of the few occasions that I actually let my hair hang down. I'm beginning to see the appeal of hair hanging to the butt. I'd considerate it if the tangly nature of my stong (aka, stubborn) hair didn't make it entirely laughable.
Well, I best go try to find a position in which to lie in pain until my alarm clock goes off.
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