When we failed to receive a US Census form, a representative came in person. The representative, who completely lacked a sense of humor, rolled down the list of questions - asking me my race. Instead of responding "white," I asked if there was a category for "ghostly white" - he stared blankly at me, not sure how to respond. I said I was joking and just to check the "white" box. Except I wasn't exactly joking. I am ghostly white.
There are some things about summer that are true no matter where you are. Girls flock to the sun (or tanning salon) to get their summer tans, rightfully earning the melanoma that is sure to come.
Except I stay white. Well, I turn a gorgeous shade of red, add a few new freckles, and return to my usual ghostly self. I don't spend hours in the sun expecting to gain some color - I slather myself in SPF 100. And I'm okay with that - usually. The difference this summer is I am a bridesmaid in my brother [and soon to be sister] in law's wedding, where the dresses are yellow. Don't get me wrong, I love yellow. I own several tops bearing the hue. But yellow only looks good when you are tan.
So this summer, I am experimenting with spray tans. I know, the sound of those words send shivers down my spine as horror stories of orange, streaky skin blow through my mind. Which is why I will have plenty of acetone handy in case the experiment goes horribly wrong. A neighbor recommended I go to a salon that she's been to, where they recommend a clear spray tan that adds a hint of color - enough to make me less ghostly, and more human.
