If you're a fair-skinned lass like me, chances are, you've had a sunburn or 20. I've had my share, and if I get out of this particular cancer trap alive, skin cancer is likely waiting around the corner for me one day. But you see, I have fond memories of those burns. The one on my back from laying on my stomach with my friends at Glen Lake beach when I was 12, boys throwing tiny pebbles down the fronts of our bathing suits. The one on my arse cheeks from boogie boarding in Honolulu with my best friend when I was 16. Yes, pain, but oh so worth it.
In the 70s/80s, tanning was de rigeur, no? Even if you scored a few burns along the way. Even my idol growing up was a gorgeous girl (who follows this blog) who had THE best tan around. She used baby oil to speed things up and used to cut out these tiny cardboard hearts and stick them on her stomach so she'd have a tan line in the shape of a heart. How do you not love a girl like that?
The thing is, though, when I got a burn, like any sane person, I would try to keep that area out of the sun the next time. With this whole radiation dealio, I'm shoving my second degree burned skin back under those glorious rays every freakin' day. And let me tell you - the underside of one's boobage was not meant to be exposed to those rays... like ever. So yeah, I'm hurtin'.
But one more day!!!!!!!!!
If I can just keep my skin intact for another week, I can go to PS without wearing saline compresses on the plane. So today, I'm reclining on the couch for as long as possible, pressing a cold washcloth to my bosom and murdering my aloe plant over and over again. These last three blasts are about the boob and not the surrounding areas any more, so my back and chest are beginning to heal already and itching like hell.
Alright. After yesterday's bitchy post and today's complaining, I better come up with something nice to say before I get my mouth washed out with soap (again)... Boy, I love a foggy morning in Victoria. It's gloriously cold and damp and I'm busting, Jerry, busting!