A blog about a life awakened and rejuvenated around Western New York.

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I don’t get it. I never did. But since I’ve never conformed to “tanning”, I’m willing to live vicariously. “Tanning” in quotation marks. Oh, I’ve gotten tanned before, but that usually meant I was outside doing something in the sun and my pigment happened to change. I’ve rendered myself anywhere from golden to burnt-to-a-crimson-crisp, and all points in between. It was hardly ever a deliberate and conscious act.

But with a wedding just over two weeks away, my daughters had talked my wife into going “tanning”. They wanted to look even better than usual for my oldest daughter’s nuptials. The works. Spray tan and the illuminating coffin. Throw in the tubes and bottles of solutions and lotions all meant to deliver three bronzed beauties at the end of the process.

The first session went well as far as I could assume. I had managed to fend off the three in getting claustrophobic me into the chamber, so I had that going for me!My girls being “veterans” of the crisping process explained the nuances to their mother, while the technician programmed her time of exposure. It would take a bit for coloration to “pop”.

I’ll tell you about my wife. Fair-skinned does not aptly describe her. She is a combination of albino and pasty. She goes directly to char; she rarely tans. And as I had described a few days back, tradition surrounds me. As her color started to pop, someone forgot to tell it to stop.

Such a lovely scarlet resides where her pale palette once existed. Not the look she was going for (I hope). It will even out, my daughters promise. I count on their being right about that. Otherwise, I’ll have to find two other tanning neophytes to join her and they could give the Blue Man Group a run for their money. Here comes the sun… break out the SPF!