Fake Bake

here’s the thing.  i’ve got a beach trip coming up at the end of this month with my reverend (and family), on the white sandy shores of southern alabama.  and what i want the absolute LEAST from this trip is a scorching body-wide burn on my first day there that will consequently render me motionless and in a burka for the rest of the trip.  so i’m taking matters into my own hands and going to a tanning salon multiple times weekly until that time – the idea is to create a nice solid base tan before i hit the beach.  tanning is quite the interesting experience.  for one, you get to wear little tiny (and in my case, neon green) eyewear to protect your eyes from the UV rays.  these make me feel like an alien and also strike me as a rather futile attempt to protect your eyeballs while you beam the rest of your body with cancerous rays.  but hey, my eyes will be ok!  also hilarious to me is the music: think what you would hear at babylon combined with top 40 radio – normal songs that needed a little pep in their step for some reason.  why they want you to be bopping while laying in a glowing tube is beyond me.  but the most interesting slash scary part of tanning is, hands down, the crowd of people you find at a tanning salon.  and it can be summed up in one word: leather.  leather bags, leather skin.  very strange place.  but it’s an in&out endeavor for me, and hopefully i’ll hit my goal and have an awesome golden glow in time for my beach visit with as little interaction with leather as possible – except, of course, in its kenneth cole form.


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