Last night I had the very bright idea of spraying myself with fake-tanner with the idea that I would wake up this gorgeous goddess of golden C3PO skin. When I woke up, I thought I had achieved just that. I dressed in a simple wrap dress, shawl for the plane and flats. When the town car came to pick me up at 4:15 AM (!), it was still cool and dark outside. I exited my house and felt very much a fancy lady.
It wasn’t until I had already boarded, made my way past people who were not in wrap dresses because they were smart that I realized I WAS STREAKY. Not only was I streaky, I was VERY STREAKY. My vision of being a sweet tanned angel baby melted into an emergency plan of trying to cover myself on the plane lest anyone wonder why I had birthmarks all over my body, or how I made it past airport security after being hit by a mud truck.
And as the plane continued over the midwest, hours passing, the tan just kept getting darker and darker, developing from a “hmm, that’s an odd color,” to “WHY ARE THERE HANDPRINTS ALL OVER YOUR BODY?” I was mortified.
Why couldn’t I have just left my body alone, owned my pasty white skin and not try to be something I’m not: a fancy lady? And why did the bottle say not to rub in, it would just dry by itself? Why couldn’t they give me the real deal, warning that if your name is Mona, it’s best just to leave it alone, it won’t happen girl. The darkest shade you will ever be is Mother of Pearl, trust.
I took a $20 (!) cab ride to the nearest drugstore because it was too hot to walk and picked up what the internet told me would help ctrl+z a fake tan mess: baby oil. I’ve managed to scrub off the first few layers, but much of it remains. My fingertips are still brown, there are tan lines where there shouldn’t be. AND WHY DID I BRING ONLY DRESSES?
But I’m here in Atlanta and I’m going to spend the next two days learning more about blogging and Coca-Cola and owning this mess I have made, this weird skin. Also, thanks to the baby oil, I can enter any local bodybuilding competition. Heavyweight category, obviously.