tan lines

I did something last night I thought I'd never do, let alone admit to.

I got a spray tan.

I know the owner of the spray tan joint socially.
I ran in to her at an event last week, where my blindingly pale legs and arms announced my arrival.
My heritage is German and Irish, neither one known for dark coloring.
I have the classic "black Irish" look -- dark hair, blue eyes and light skin.

I am also conscience of skin care and cancer prevention.
My mom had a precancerous place removed from her skin.

Have you even taken one of those skin cancer screening quizzes?
One of the red-flag questions is: Have you ever had a bad sunburn?
Answer: Yep, at least three times a summer between 1967 and 1989.
Pulling weeds in the soy bean fields caused the most memorable ones.
My siblings and I would compare burns, they became a badge of honor.
I did the typical sitting in the sun during my high school and college years.

Now I'm the queen of sunscreen.
I automatically put on 30 SPF lotion as part of my morning routine.

All of this led to me getting "sprayed" last night.

The process reminds me of the airbrush tee-shirt booth at the State Fair.
Except you are mostly naked.

You are put in a little room that has a big shower stall looking room in it.
You are given a hair net, paper sandals and paper panties.
I chose to keep on my own underwear.
You then put on a robe and flip a switch to let the the woman know that you are ready.
The spray tan artist (I'm not sure what she was called, I was too busy being mortified to pay attention to titles) takes you in to the tile room, you take off your robe and she starts spraying.

You think this is all bizarre enough?
In order to give you an even tan, you have to do things like stick your arms out in different poses, turn sideways and, um...bend over.
Did I mention that I know her?
And she's 22 and I'll be 46 tomorrow.
And I'm mostly naked?
Except for my Target undies, hair net and paper sandals?
She's lovely and is an Americorp/VISTA volunteer and this is her part-time job.
I'll never cringe about my waiting on someone that I know professionally at the Red Key again.
(I just realized that I take working in the non-profit field and having a part-time job for granted)

I don't follow instructions very well, like the "don't touch anything when you're getting dressed."
I have a hand print on my belly.
My almost 46 year old belly.
That was sprayed by a youngster with no belly.

At least I have a glowing tan to hide my red cheeks.