When it hurts to sit down

I will admit here, in the privacy of the Internet, that I went to a tanning salon today. I didn't try the new spray-on tan, maybe because of that one Friends episode. Instead I settled for the regular, lay down, be blasted by UV rays.

I wouldn't normally go, except T & I leave for Cancun in a week and my winter-white body just isn't ready for the kind of sun, the volume of sun that hangs out in Cancun in August. T suggested I hang out somewhere sunny over the weekend, but since I'm growing out the hair on my legs so I can get waxed before going to Cancun so I don't have to shave every five minutes, the thought of exposing translucent, hairy legs to the world just wasn't appealing.

Between client engagements today I dropped in at a tanning place close to work and did the deed.

I chose the more expensive, "less likely to burn" tanning bed, slathered on some lotion that the clerk recommended for the fair skinned and sensitive nosed (because I didn't want to smell like tanning bed), but my ghostly behind never saw it coming.