Orange you glad I didn't say banana

In high school, I tried the ol' self-tanner lotion. I wanted to look tan for my prom, but I was too cheap to go tanning, so I glopped on that stinky stuff a few times a week, and lo and behold, I was orange.

In the bathroom light, I thought I looked OK. Mom said I didn't look so sickly. But in gym class, playing softball outside in real light, there was some pointing and laughing going on. Ha, ha, it's the late '90s, look at you, look at us! We're all orange ...

And so I was afraid to try it again.

I'd relied on the sun and fake sun to tan since then, but that whole skin cancer thing? It's scary, so I picked up some orange-ifier.

I mean, "skin tone enhancing" lotion. Whatever that means.

So, it could enhance the pasty white we all have right now, making me look closer to Frosty than to anything else, but I'm willing to take that risk ... I think. It's sitting on the bathroom counter. If I get brave enough to try it out, maybe on my feet or something ... Maybe. Or, it'll look really, really nice sitting next to my toothbrush.

See, it's Wisconsin and something that people who live in sunny climates will never understand is, we have 45 seconds of warm weather and sunlight. We need to catch all 45 seconds, burn ourselves and then wear the residual tan for as long as we can ... Ah, the Midwest. One day of 70 degrees and we all grab our capris. Or, if you're like some I saw in the grocery store, your tube tops, short shorts and high-heeled sandals. Whatev.