I tried one of those self-tanning gimmicks. It took me almost an hour to choose from all the products and if I had just spent that amount of time in the sun, I wouldn’t have had to spend twenty dollars on an experiment.
Everybody’s going to know I got a tan out of a bottle if it goes bad. 1) I’ll have a complete body rash. 2) I’ll look jaundiced, or... 3) I’ll look like George Hamilton.
It turned out to be none of the above. Instead I developed a fascinating case of upper body acne. Lovely. Now I know what I missed out on in high school.
It’s been two months and the acne still hasn’t cleared. It’s like my skin said, “Let’s party!” and my pores said, “Bring it on!”
You know a lot of women my age—pushing forty—go under the knife to look twenty years younger. Ha! I have them beat by five more years. And now I have a sudden urge to read Teen magazine and join the Drake Bell fan club. Okay...I joined the fan club two years ago.
Have you ever done that? Have you ever expressed an interest in the younger generation? You can really creep your teens out when you express an interest in a celebrity their own age. Of course, you can’t slobber all over the guy’s picture—or marry him unless you’re a forty-year old and a celebrity yourself—but you can say, “My he’s quite a talented young man!” right?
Pbbft. I have Drake and Josh dreams.
Now I’m not saying I need to start staying 30 feet away from children, I’m just saying that occasionally I dream of a television episode. In its entirety. I think the boys are cool. I think they’re talented. I think it has something to do with the Nickelodeon station being on 24/7. I think I need to move this column along.
So I got the tanning products. I loyally slathered it on and worked the cream into my skin. I denied that I was on a carrot-only diet. I gave up. The inside of my clothes were not stained (because it washes off), but I certainly wasn’t about to let my husband see my grimy laundry. “Geez, woman, don’t you shower??”
“Hey, I wash!” I yelled down the hall after my husband, just as my eldest emerged from their bedroom affecting their best “Yea-ah, whatever,” look. I hate to lose.
“Hey, I had one of THOSE dreams last night...”
“Mother!”
“I’m a soul wo-man, dada da dada da, I’m a soul woman!”
One thing is for sure. I might be a pimply old woman with an odd orange hue to her skin, but I can dance!
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©Lisa Barker - Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane... Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom™, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
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