I spoke with my boss this morning. I don't get to go sailing this weekend with him, a co-worker, a former student of ours, and our spouses. It's not that I don't love sailing. I do. I enjoy being on the water, with the wind in my hair, and only a slip of land visible (I don't want to go too far out). It's more that I turn into one big, hive-y blotch with uncontrollable itching for hours after only 15 minutes with Mr. Sun. So, to combat this, I wear Super-Duper High Power Sun Screen every morning (Because of the enormous grease factor involved with this, I console myself with the fact that I should NEVER get wrinkles. I am power-moisturized.) I have an SPF 50 shirt given to me by my wonderful mother. I have two, count them - two, wide brimmed floppy hats that go anywhere. Indeed, one lives in my car. So, when I go on the water now, it's not the idyllic photo in the magazines. Oh, no. It's me in linen pants and long sleeve shirt, with Jackie O sunglasses, SPF 800 on under my makeup, which is sliding off my face because of the oppressive humidity (the weather man calls it "air you can wear"). All this under my camoflage/beige hat that I have taped to my head because the sea breeze is trying to blow it off my head and I don't have an elastic chin strap. My co-worker said she would bring steroid shot to ward off the hive-ies, but I'll take a rain check on a shot like that.
So I did get a reprieve. And you'll forgive me if I don't show up to your pool party in a bathing suit. It's more like a coat of armor for me, thanks.
I'll trade my skin for someone elses. Any day.
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