I'm now addicted to tanning. I swear. It's my new favorite thing. I literally count the minutes until I can tan again. I love it, love it, love it. Now, I don't actually get tan. I don't have enough of the Spanish & French blood to tan the way I'd like, but I do manage not to burn, unlike my mother would have done.
Yes, it seems my dad's great-great-great-great grandfather, Juan, came from Toledo in central Spain in the 1790s. He landed in New Orleans, and changed his name to John. Who knows why since the French owned Louisiana then. The Americans wouldn't get it for about 20 more years, so you'd think he'd have gone with Jean. Anyway, he married a French woman. And it's to Juan & his bride that I owe what little tanning ability I have.
M, the one with Mexican & Indian blood and the ability to get very tan, says that I least I bronze. And for that I am grateful - even as I am jealous of his tanning ability. It's true. It could be worse. I could be like my northern European mother and just burn.
I don't really visit the tanning bed for the tanning - I say that because tanning is really next to impossible for me, and saying this makes it seem like I don't care that bronzing is the best I can do. I visit because it's as close as I can get to the sun these days. It's warm and bright. I close my eyes and remember what it feels like to be at the beach. I can almost hear the waves pounding the shore. I love the warmth. I almost weep when my 4 minutes are up.
Soon, I hope, the sun will return and with it warm weather. I can't wait to get outdoors again. I love the heat. Until then I'll have to make do with trips to the tanning bed and the memory of what summer feels like.
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