Take a look at a white person. If you are white, this will be really easy. Now, look at a part of that white person that the sun doesn't touch. You may want to use the solar eclipse pinhole method so you don't burn your retina. This is the color of my entire body. Plus freckles.
Folks [who don't know me in "real life"] often assume that I am tan because I live in Florida. These folks are very wrong. My super fair skin was the target of choice for many a mean girl in school. For a long time, it really bothered me. I wore pants. In Florida. During the summer.
In late teenhood, I got hip to self-tanner. My top 3 issues back then: (1) it stank; (2) it washed off while swimming; (3) no two parts of my body ever matched. Self-tanner has improved a bit over the years. My issue now: it still washes off while swimming. Come on tan scientists. Make it work.
Anywho. Somewhat recently, I was to be a bridesmaid. Always the bridesmaid, never a book contract. The bride had a spray tanning party which I refused to take part in. Until I saw everyone else looking gorgeous and bronze. The party was an in-home, get naked in a tent sort of thing. There were two sprayers - one male and one female. The other bridesmaids did not want to get naked in front of the male sprayer. I figured he was like a gyno - you see enough whosy-whatsits, they stop phasing you. So the bride and I were sprayed (separately) by Mr. Tan.
As I was standing in all my glory, Mr. Tan said, "Spread your legs a little wider. Oh, by-the-way, you go to church with my brother." Boom. Boom. Pow. He then proceeded to ask questions about church. I had on pasties, y'all. Jesus chat + exposed lady bits = no. Sorry.
To top it all off, the tan started to peel in odd patterns before the wedding. I had to use Sally Hensen spray hose. All over. I may have looked like parts of me were made of plastic. Plastic that was melting on my dress.
Your turn. Tell us about the weirdest position you've ever been in when questioned by a stranger.
