Fake Tan

Not many people know I was an Oompah Loompah once. I didn't look like this. I was considerably cuter. Sigh. Back when getting a spray-on tan wouldn't have ever occurred to me. Of course, I thought I would be tan and blond all of the time, driving around in my convertible yellow corvette (that's what my tan, blond Barbie drove). Though it was my second favorite flavor of starburst, orange was not part of the picture.

My palms are orange. My neck looks like it is covered with caked-on dirt. And my stomach and butt look fantastic. Worthwhile trade? I think so. If I shower 5 times before we leave for LA tomorrow morning, the parts of me that show might look less alienesque. Someone (Jen? GOD?) please tell me that everyone in LA gets fake tans too.

The Mist On experience is not for the faint of heart. I nearly lost it as four cycles of chemicals sprayed over me, like standing outside with DDT dropping from the sky in the ill-thought-out early 80s mosquito abatement program. The smell is toxic, and when you step out of the booth and see all the brown droplets clinging to your body you begin to question the fact that you paid to have this done to you. The post-nymphette (like a voluptuous Natalie Portman) helping me was ridiculously tan, and flawless, and made it that much harder to face myself in the mirror as I patted myself down (you have to use a very special technique, which I had luckily researched online ahead of time). But as the skin dye sets in, you start to notice how much better your tummy looks with a little color, how long it's been since you couldn't see the soccer bruises on your legs (which are mostly from running into the corner of your desk at work), and how brown your palms are. Wait, weren't you supposed to avoid getting the stuff on your palms?

I asked the p-n, and she said it would get darker (read: oranger). I tried to scrub it off, I really did. But alas, my palms are the same color as the rest of my hands. Hey, nobody's perfect, right? My skin also smells like feet. Not dirty feet, just regular feet. Like the anticipation of bad smell.

If I can bear it, I'll take some pictures this weekend...