Solar Shock

Every year my summer starts like this.  I hesitate to put on much sunscreen for fear of depriving my pale office skin of invaluable tanning potential.  Then, I spend the entire day thumbprinting myself and rationalizing that some hypercolor is ok.  That evening, I’m inevitably shocked by the lobster in the mirror but decide, after a minor panic attack, that the tan is salvageable with a regiment of aloe.  A week of sticky shirts later, I’m totally stoked that the tan is here to stay.  The next day, my skin goes into Chernobyl meltdown.  28 years, every fucking year.