Blog CemeterySkin
November 10th 2006 06:31
One of the banes of my life is my skin. It is incredibly disagreeable. We are heading into summer, and it’s only a matter of time before I’m rapped up in aloe and other burn products, trying desperately not to accidentally bump into anything and hoping like crazy that no flies choose to land on me. The reason that this is such an issue for me is that I really do try not to get burned. I’m just a sun magnet.
Well, you are thinking, you must not be trying hard enough.
But I do, I really do, and I have witnesses to prove it.
Cast you memory back to early 2006, and think about what you were doing. Can you remember? Well, I certainly can, and I’m going to share it with now.
It was art camp. We were staying at a little place that some people (rightly) referred to as a Japanese prison. There was a wonderful fire alarm that went off in the middle of the night, almost every night without fail, there was very little shelter, nothing but a few dried out trees and a bit of ocean to draw, and on the second day I broke the tap in the bathroom which resulted in the water to the entire camp being turned off for the hottest hours of the day. So we were all grumpy, covered in paint and dirt and to complete the pleasant learning experience, dehydrated.
Recognising this, the teachers decided the perfect move would be to drag us all down to the white hot beach sand where we could sit and draw a decrepit old bridge in the middle of the day, in the middle of summer.
Pleased as we were to have such an opportunity, my friends and I realised that this would be a skin-singeing activity and we went prepared. But none as prepared as I, knowing my skin as I do.
Step 1. I placed a towel on the sand so as to avoid burning from reflection off the sand. I sat on this.
Step 2. After liberally applying sunscreen to my already pink shoulders, I put on a hideously ugly shirt.
Step 3. I then placed a rather disgusting old hat on my head. (slip slop slap)
Step 4. I had a friend throw a towel over my head and shoulders.
I looked like a blob. If the skin cancer foundation ever needs a mascot I think the “sun-safe blob” is definitely the way to go.
Anyway, my teacher thought this was absolutely hilarious, and did some very amusing imitations of my hands darting out of my blob hut to grab chalk pastels. I could hardly breathe for laughing let me assure you.
You already see it don’t you? The hands. Foolishly, I didn’t wear gloves. My hands were so red people thought Elmo had appeared every time I needed to reach for something.
Since this experience, my friends spent many a happy week or so devising plans for portable tents, sun shelters and protective suits for me.
The saddest of all of this, I do not tan. I go straight from white, to red, to white. There is no justice.
I hope all remain un-singed for summer.
Well, you are thinking, you must not be trying hard enough.
But I do, I really do, and I have witnesses to prove it.
Cast you memory back to early 2006, and think about what you were doing. Can you remember? Well, I certainly can, and I’m going to share it with now.
Recognising this, the teachers decided the perfect move would be to drag us all down to the white hot beach sand where we could sit and draw a decrepit old bridge in the middle of the day, in the middle of summer.
Pleased as we were to have such an opportunity, my friends and I realised that this would be a skin-singeing activity and we went prepared. But none as prepared as I, knowing my skin as I do.
Step 1. I placed a towel on the sand so as to avoid burning from reflection off the sand. I sat on this.
Step 3. I then placed a rather disgusting old hat on my head. (slip slop slap)
Step 4. I had a friend throw a towel over my head and shoulders.
I looked like a blob. If the skin cancer foundation ever needs a mascot I think the “sun-safe blob” is definitely the way to go.
Anyway, my teacher thought this was absolutely hilarious, and did some very amusing imitations of my hands darting out of my blob hut to grab chalk pastels. I could hardly breathe for laughing let me assure you.
You already see it don’t you? The hands. Foolishly, I didn’t wear gloves. My hands were so red people thought Elmo had appeared every time I needed to reach for something.
Since this experience, my friends spent many a happy week or so devising plans for portable tents, sun shelters and protective suits for me.
The saddest of all of this, I do not tan. I go straight from white, to red, to white. There is no justice.
I hope all remain un-singed for summer.
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