May 5, 2011
For someone who looks like she missed her flight home to Oslo; pale skin, blond hair and invisible eyelashes are a way of life. I haven't accrued the nickname "Valkyrie" from two separate sources for nothing. The blond hair is no problem, and the lashes can be fixed with a little Maybelline. But my skin is approximately the color of wax paper during winter, and it carries the same opacity, which hasn't been desireable in this country for several decades.
I've been struggling with self-tanner for years. I remember my first tragic experiment in third grade that left strange stripes of orange across my whole body and me crying. In the years that followed, nearly every spring I decided that I would try again to achieve something from Miami. And every year, a tell-tale streak would appear on my wrist, neck or other body part that isn't usually covered in clothing. Off to the shower with a washcloth and lots of shame.
My high will undoubtedly fade as the lotion develops and I see the spots that got too much or too little. I'll be wearing a turtleneck and long pants to work when it's 80 degrees just so people don't know about my guilty pleasure.