Me and SPF

Being that it hasn't rained in Burbank in about eight months now, I've been dwelling on the sun. Both, literally and figuratively. I was thinking about the Irish fair I went to about a year ago. It was blistering hot in Anaheim and we were outside all day, admiring the sheep dogs, drooling over the jewelry, marvelling at the step dancers' wigs, and contemplating buying t-shirts that said, "Feck off."

In anticipation of the heat, I wore a light peasant shirt. Long sleeved to keep the sun off my arms. I smeared myself with SPF 5,000. Face, neck, ears, decollotage, and even my hands.

We got home that night, I took off my shirt and bra, glanced in the mirror, said "Damn!" and went to find Robyn.

I had a line of white cutting through the salmon pink on my back. My bra had protected me, but I had sunburnt THROUGH my damned shirt. THROUGH IT!!!

Robyn confirmed that I was indeed burnt and I grumbled my way into the bathroom to find the aloe vera.

I've now reached a whole new level of paranoia. Apparently, I can only leave the house while wearing lead clothing.

I'm going to go look up rain dances on Google now.