Burned by Vanity
It’s the Tuesday before my wedding and — even though we had decided all along that this was going to be a no frills affair, somehow I had been talked into getting a new outfit by my mom; a lovely soft yellow and dove grey sleeveless flowy top; sleeveless even though it’s been one of the coldest springs in years in BC — I am feeling a little pasty. Now that I have this new little outfit chosen for the wedding, I’m thinking that if I’m going to freeze, it is important that I look good doing it.
I walk in to the most convenient tanning salon I can find and ask the bronze young girl at the front desk what she recommends. She starts to tell me about the super-pooper ultra spaceship model tanning device that gives off six times the UV whatsit rays of the regular beds… and then she tells me the price. For $35.99, I think I can live with being pasty. Just as I am about to leave, she says the mid range bed for $12.95 a session will probably be good enough.
”You are so dark, I thought you were an avid tanner.” I tell her I haven’t been in a tanning bed since the ’80’s and she giggles (I’m not sure if she if she was even born yet by the ’80’s). We settle on the middle bed, she gives me goggles, asks if I ever burn — to which I answer, never — and says I can probably handle a full session. Oh yeah, I say, I’m sure that’ll be fine. A few minutes later I am in my bed with my goggles on and I pull down the lid. Ah, it feels a little claustrophobic and not at all natural, but it’s warm and the hum of the lights and the fan kind of reminds me of ‘om’. I am enjoying the warmth at least until my back starts to stick to the bed. I try to arch my back up and hold my arms out in chicken wing fashion – I hate those fake ‘n bake give away white lines at the arm pits. Then, clunk, the lights turn off and it’s time to get out. I’m feeling warm and somewhat relaxed. It was an awkward, but not altogether unpleasant 15 minutes.
As I climb out of the bed I notice there is a little sticker on the bed with a suggested tanning program. The suggested regime is to begin with… THREE minutes for the first week, then 7 minutes for the second week, 10 minutes in the third week and finally 15 minutes in the fourth week. I’m a bit nervous after diving right in to 15 minutes, but figure the girl at the front desk wouldn’t have steered me too dangerously wrong. I thank the nice young girl who is chatting away on the phone and I drive home to look in the mirror for the first time. Oh my.
I’m quite …
flush.
Almost glowing.
As the minutes and hours go by I become brighter and brighter and begin to feel much like a pumpkin. I had been hoping to, not exactly hide my frivolous spending from my soon-to-be husband, but I wasn’t planning on flaunting it. I had to tell him. He couldn’t be mad because he could see how clearly uncomfortable I was. As the evening went on, it became worse and worse. I felt like what I imagine a microwaved chicken must feel… like I was cooking from the inside out.
Needless to say I spent the next two nights unable to sleep on my back, I was in so much pain from the sun burn. By the third night I wasn’t in pain anymore, but was insanely itchy and by Friday, the day before the wedding, I was peeling. Lovely.
Never again. I wanted to be mad at the dumb young girl at the tanning salon, but I know it’s my own fault. That stings even more than the sun burn! It’s vanity that burned me.
Posted: April 14th, 2008 under On a more personal note.
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