The Taming Of The Hue

Being pigmently challenged is not fun. I understand that Nicole Kidman enjoys rocking out her fair skin but she is also lacking any physical flaw so I don’t think her vote counts with regards to taming of the hue. Summer is right around the corner causing two things haunt my mind, putting on a bathing suit and bumble bees (that’s a whole other story). I have found that if my skin is tan it hides some of mother nature’s cruel jokes, namely cellulite, so each spring I find myself going to the tanning salon in order to achieve a less pasty hue. Anyone who has been in a traditional tanning bed knows that there are certain areas on the body that somehow avoid the synthetic sun rays and must be evened out by utilizing a stand up tanning bed which is where my tragic tale begins.

It was a balmy Wednesday evening when I strolled into the tanning salon. I was finally bronzed enough to notice that the tips of my shoulder blades, under arms and bum required evening out with the use of a stand up bed. I told the person behind the counter what I required and he sent me on my merry way to bed number twelve. I shrugged off my clothes, put on my tanning goggles (safety first) and shuffled blindly into the large stand up bed. Once I sealed myself securely in the UV pod I hit the start button and basked in the retina burning light. The timer indicated that I was going to be cooking for a total of eight minutes which was fine since I had been laying in the traditional beds for fourteen minutes. As I gripped the bars near the top of the bed I tapped my feet and bobbed my head to the music that was playing to pass the time and soon the timer beeped and my UV pod shut off. I quickly dressed and raced home in anticipation to check out my evenly tanned back, arms and bum. As I sped home I noticed that I felt warmer than I usually do after a visit to the tanning salon but chalked it up to the fact that I did attempt to do the Cuban Shuffle in the tanning bed (side note: avoid doing the Cuban Shuffle in any type of tanning mechanism) and had expended a lot of energy. When I arrived home I flew into the bathroom stripping off clothes along the way to check out my new svelte tan. My back was slightly red but looked very even and the renowned “smiley faces” were already much less noticeable but then I noted the redness of my arms, specifically my arm pits which were radiating enough heat to pop a bag of popcorn. I gently poked at my left armpit and winced as the overcooked flesh stung in response. The redness increased as the hours passed causing me to avoid any article of clothing with a sleeve and any activity involving the movement of my arms. For two days I suffered with the pain of burned armpits and the embarrassment of walking around like a body builder to avoid any additional friction. What’s the moral of this story? Be wise when attempting the taming of the hue.