I’m a pasty-white person. I come from a long, illustrious line of pasty-white people. We’re so pale, you can pretty much read by the light reflected off our fish-belly skin. I accepted fairly (ha!) early on that “tanning” was something that happened to other people. Me? I could expect to scorch, then peel, then freckle, then go right back to pasty-white, plus freckles.
Without sunscreen, my “safe” time in the sun is about four minutes. That’s when I’ll start to feel the itchy prickle, as my skin begins to burn. With SPF-15, I can be outside for almost an hour, but I’m pushing it.
Knowing this, and not wanting to have to bathe in sunscreen fourteen times a day, I tend to avoid the sun. Sometimes, that wars with my desire to be a Good Slacker Mom.
Friday, determined to be a Good Slacker Summer Mom, I trooped slightly north with my offspring, to a nice little community lake. I like this particular lake because they’ve brought in sod to line portions of the waterfront. Armed with my sun canopy, long-sleeved gauze overshirt, big floppy linen hat, sunglasses, and shoes, and setting up that sun canopy on the grass, rather than the sandy bits, I can supervise said offspring enjoying The Nature, without The Nature actually touching too much of me.
So, how is it fair (ha!) that, with all those preparations, and staying very firmly in full shade the entire time, 30 feet back from the water, I managed to get scorched on my semi-exposed forearms and cleavage?
I’ll tell you: it’s not. Fair is not fair at all.