So I got scorched at the tanning bed. Serves me right for going to the tanning bed in the first place, sez Sammi.
I have determined after long moments of thought that the tanning bed attendant girl left me in to roast for 20 minutes at 450 instead of 10 at, well, whatever. I think it was longer than the ten minutes I requested because I have evidence. I heard these songs on the radio while sauteeing:
1. That “You got it bad” song
2. Some Ja Rule song
3. That Evanescence song that I like
4. “Hypnotize” by the late great Biggie
And possibly another song that I can’t remember anything about. That HAS to be more than ten minutes of music, right? I haven’t gone so far as to look up the track times on Kazaa or anything, but my intuition tells me that was longer than ten minutes.
So. My butt is fried and it hurts. And about my boobs: they hurt. And they itch. A lot. Actually, that flat place in between them is the worst. It’s so bad that I can’t help but kind of scratch at it and rub at it occasionally – even out in public. So I’ve been walking around scratching the flat place between my boobs all day, and everyone thinks I’m a freak.
I’m probably going to develop melanoma by the end of the week.
But I want to be tan! It was all about wanting to be tan! I’m like the whitest white girl ever born, with the possible exception of Boss, who wears white pantyhose because they blend in with her skin tone. I can do nude.
But now I’m going to have to find pantyhose in “Lobster.”