tanning disabled

In 2009, Alexander and I spent a week in Rio.  My friend Zelia and her two kids (friends of Alexander’s) were living there for a year, and we visited them during Alexander’s spring break.

There I discovered, for the first time, that I no longer tanned evenly.  I ended up with half my face burnt and the other half white.  I looked ridiculous and was teased relentlessly.

Since then, it seems, I’ve lost my ability to tan nicely.  Regardless of how I sit, which way I angle my chair, what I wear, or what sunblock I use, I end up with a red and white blotchy look. 

Jean and her family arrive today.  It’s a cloudless, sunny, hot day.  We all go to the beach. 

jack and alexander

abbey and jean

valerie

I ignore my mom’s protests, “Cover up.  Linder (that’s what she calls me despite my being called Lyn by everyone else for the past 40 plus years), you'll get sun poisoning (something I have never had).”  My sisters warn me.  “You are getting all burnt.  You should sit under the umbrella.”  Because Alexander knows I hate this, he teasingly joins in, “Mom; they’re right.  You should probably come out of the sun.”  I’m stubborn and listen to no one.

But I pay for it.  Because I am holding a book, my hands are burnt except for my finger tips from the knuckles up; those are white.  The top of my left hand is beet red and has swelled to three times its size.  My legs and arms are half white-half red.  And my face is unevenly burnt.

Alexander takes a picture of me after I’ve showered, including my smudged mascara.  To say it is unflattering would be a gross understatement of the facts.  

I don’t dare utter one word of complaint.  When asked if it hurts, I reply, “Not at all.”