Those who live on vanity must, not unreasonably, expect to die of mortification. -Alice Thomas Ellis
So, considering I’ll be at the beach in less than three weeks and recently being subjected to my disturbingly huge white-assness under department store florescent lighting (=evil) and corresponding fun house mirrors (=more evil) designed to wreak havoc on one’s self-esteem, I reasoned I’d get myself a tan. The "healthy" way. Especially since the only way I’m going to lose those 20 pounds I’ve been bitching about is for someone to cut off my arm...or maybe my head and an ass cheek...Monty Pyton style. ( "Tis merely a flesh wound..." "What are you going to do...bleed on me?")
Here, spray tanning is called a "Mystic Tan". Will turn you a "nice, bronze-brown color" in two sessions according to the prominently displayed poster. And of course since I have "sucker" written on my forehead in ink only visible in the purple glow coming from under the door of the booth in use next to the counter, Shawn (who seemed a little too excited about tanning in general if you ask me) pitched me the special accellerator lotion. Sure, sign me up.
He walks me back and gives me instructions which include only how to open the door to the tanning coffin, how to stand in the booth (face front with arms out in like a robot stance with elbows bent at shoulder level, hand down and palms back) and to listen to the automated instructions. So I get all lotioned up, put the little hair net thingy over my head and stand like an uncomfortable and self-conscious robot in front of three nozzles at hip level. How is that going to get my whole front? But whatever. I go ahead and start it and am sprayed with some sort of misty, foggy, damp wetness that comes from the three nozzles as they flip up and down, spraying the length of me twice in about 15 seconds. Sort of like what I imagine standing in an automatic car wash would feel like. Except I’m afraid to breathe. And my back is still dry. And there’s only nozzels in the front. So, I’m thinking, "When do I turn around? Now?" And I’m vaguely aware of some mumbly sounds coming from above, which I gather was the voice telling me to turn around. So I quickly do that (and for some idiotic reason, open my eyes....ouch) and get blasted again from the back with no time to spare. Feeling a little ridiculous that I’m so clueless and this has all happened so fast, the door finally opens and I jump out trying to grab some air that doesn’t taste like bug repellant spray. Ok, now what? I’m standing nekkid in a cold room, covered in stinky dew, feeling oddly like I need a hug. (Why? I don’t know. Oh, I know...it’s another huge mirror and bad lighting, only now I’m wearing a hair net. (=evilest!!!) So I dab off, (no rubbing!!! says Shawn), dress my smelly self and wait for the tan.
Cut to 6 hours later.... I’m slightly less orange than an oompa loompa. Gah! Second session probably Thursday...
Here, spray tanning is called a "Mystic Tan". Will turn you a "nice, bronze-brown color" in two sessions according to the prominently displayed poster. And of course since I have "sucker" written on my forehead in ink only visible in the purple glow coming from under the door of the booth in use next to the counter, Shawn (who seemed a little too excited about tanning in general if you ask me) pitched me the special accellerator lotion. Sure, sign me up.
He walks me back and gives me instructions which include only how to open the door to the tanning coffin, how to stand in the booth (face front with arms out in like a robot stance with elbows bent at shoulder level, hand down and palms back) and to listen to the automated instructions. So I get all lotioned up, put the little hair net thingy over my head and stand like an uncomfortable and self-conscious robot in front of three nozzles at hip level. How is that going to get my whole front? But whatever. I go ahead and start it and am sprayed with some sort of misty, foggy, damp wetness that comes from the three nozzles as they flip up and down, spraying the length of me twice in about 15 seconds. Sort of like what I imagine standing in an automatic car wash would feel like. Except I’m afraid to breathe. And my back is still dry. And there’s only nozzels in the front. So, I’m thinking, "When do I turn around? Now?" And I’m vaguely aware of some mumbly sounds coming from above, which I gather was the voice telling me to turn around. So I quickly do that (and for some idiotic reason, open my eyes....ouch) and get blasted again from the back with no time to spare. Feeling a little ridiculous that I’m so clueless and this has all happened so fast, the door finally opens and I jump out trying to grab some air that doesn’t taste like bug repellant spray. Ok, now what? I’m standing nekkid in a cold room, covered in stinky dew, feeling oddly like I need a hug. (Why? I don’t know. Oh, I know...it’s another huge mirror and bad lighting, only now I’m wearing a hair net. (=evilest!!!) So I dab off, (no rubbing!!! says Shawn), dress my smelly self and wait for the tan.
Cut to 6 hours later.... I’m slightly less orange than an oompa loompa. Gah! Second session probably Thursday...
posted by mimikatemom at
12:23 PM
5 Comments:
Well, I might be the first to ask. But I won't be the last. Let's see a picture of some of that orange skin.
Is it safe to assume that you can shower without this stuff coming off?
That's a good story. I think you should just give each of your kids a brown Sharpie marker and let em at ya.
Time for Nick to chime in and share a similar story.....My wife Lisa had an “adventure” with a spray booth. She was the first appointment of the day and the compressor was apparently not turned on. When she pressed the start button, the nozzles splattered her with tanning pigment from head to toe. She beckoned the attendant who had to wipe the goopy tan pigment off of her naked body which took over 20 minutes. Humbling to say the least.
No, there will be no pictures! And, I'm happy to report that the orange tint has faded to a more brown color. So maybe there's hope for the second round :)Hi, Cindy! Thx for steering me clear of any thoughts of airbrushing...I see what you mean about it rubbing off; after running yesterday, my running bra rubbed the color off a half moon shape on my upper chest. Pretty! And hello Nick! Thanks for reminding me that things could always be worse!! (hee)The horror!
Nik, I have seen the Friends episode...a long time ago and I do remember Ross yelling "Oh, C'mon!!!" in the booth when he doesn't turn around. Too funny...didn't he get so brown it looked like his teeth were glowing? Maybe that's the look I should be going for! :)
Cheers all, thanks for checking in.
I've seen Paula very burnt once. It looked extremely painful. Perhaps she's on the right track here. I'm not convinced yet. But I can certainly see her point of view.
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