Alternative Tanning

Some of you have heard this story. But I decided I'd revive it in celebration of summer and the never-ending quest to find ways to be tan without cancer. I wrote this last year when I was pregnant with my daughter:

I'm large and in charge and pasty white. And since my vampire skin fries at the first hint of daylight, real tanning is out of the question. I hear this ad on the radio. It's a monthly unlimited special for that spray-on tan where you go into the booth and it "mists" you. I'm thinking maybe there's a chance that I don't have to be Casper anymore. So I go to sign up and the bronze perky girl in shorts gives me the spiel, and she goes, "by the way the machine's really loud". I'm thinking, ok, good to know. And she repeats, "No. The machine is really LOUD". I'm thinking how bad can it be? The lady in the video loved it. She was drinking the air like it was rootbeer. So me and my belly get prepped: lotion on, shower cap, goggles and nose plugs. That's right, HOTTIE.  Scan the room for hidden cameras. I close the door and the next thing I know my life is flashing before my eyes. The "misty, mystical rootbeer" was actually a fire hose of brown venom aimed directly into each nostril. The plugs couldn't hold back the force. I can't breath and I'm scared for my unborn child to absorb the fumes that the perky girl said weren't FDA approved for inhalation. And the fire hose keeps exploding. And screaming. And expoding and screaming. Then out of nowhere it stops. And for a moment I think I might live. But then remember that this is where I'm suppoed to turn around and wait for a second round. So I do. And the mystical rootbeer poison tsunami overtakes me. My lungs are turning into raisins because I can't hold my breath on a good day. Let alone with an infant lying across my organs. When the Ride Of Terror finally comes to an end, I realize that despite the fact that I'm wearing goggles, my eyes are now sealed shut. And for some reason, I forget that I can actually open them. So now I'm searching for the door knob in a panic because I was sure the machine might start up again just to see me cry. Somehow I manage to eescape.

And then, the next morning it looks great.

And I'm pissed because I really, really wanted to hate it.