...while shopping for dresses with your mother (who is supposed to love you and tell you that you are beautiful no matter what) she takes one look at your legs and exclaims, "you have to get a tan!"
That's right, my mother strongly suggested that I go to a tanning booth and toast myself before her wedding. It really wasn't a suggestion. It was more of a request. Possibly a demand. Had I said, "you should love me whatever color I am," I believe she would have bought me some sessions to try and persuade me with free stuff.
Now, I know I am a white girl. Really white. My mother, who is Italian, has dark olive skin. My sister inherited this trait. They both tan incredibly easily without burning and keep their color well past summer. I, however, did not inherit this trait. My skin looks pretty white year-round, and if I go out in the sun without at least SPF 45 I'm in big trouble. My mom took the risk that one of her children wouldn't have dark skin when she chose to make kids with my dad who was half Polish. I guess she thought the half-Italian part would win out. It didn't.
Since I believe that paying to apply cancer and wrinkles to my skin is maybe the worst idea since smoking, there's absolutely no way I'm going to a tanning salon. I'm also pretty sure that using a self-tanner will leave me orange, streaky, or orange and streaky, so that's probably not the best route either. I need non-drastic change that is goof-proof, as I am a big goof. So last week I started using a new gradual self-tanning lotion from St. Ives that is also meant to be firming as an added little bonus.
Week one tanning report: After the first few days I thought my skin was just more pink, but now that it's been about a week I'm definitely a little darker in the tan-colored direction. But I don't think anyone would mistake me for actually having a tan. May take a while for that.
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