I mean, really pale. Like, luminescent, I-never-see-the-sun pale, even the parts of me that do see the sun on a semi-regular basis.
Except for my left arm. That thing’s tan. Like, so tan that it might be able to pass as a normal person’s arm. So tan that, if it were put in a line-up, no one would ID it as mine.
It’s so tan that people regularly assume it’s adopted.
So anyway, I’m more of one of those I-don’t-tan-I-freckle-and-burn-not-necessarily-in-that-order people, except for my left arm, which tans and freckles, but for the rest of this post you’ll know that it’s the exception to my otherwise sweeping generalizations.
Friday last week I took off from work and accompanied Mother and Shu to the beach.
Yes, the beach was located in New Jersey. No, I did not see any guidos, but then again I’d left my spotter’s guide at home, and please just be happy that I had a good time.
We pitched two umbrellas, one hailing from Mother’s childhood. Aside from the rust stains, it was in remarkably good condition.
We walked along the beach. We walked along the board walk. We marinated ourselves in the salt bath known as the ocean.
We tried to get Shu to jump waves while holding onto a boogie board, but she wasn’t too happy about it. Maybe it has something to do with the alchemy which happens when salt water comes in contact with contacts.
We bought delicious candy from Shriver’s and ate delicious pizza at some restaurant with a predictably Italian name which I was unsure how to pronounce because, well, I’ve never taken Italian. When you see “cc” in a word, it’s a unvoiced, postalveolar affricate, right? Or is that when a “c” is followed by an “i”?
I’ve gotten off track.
The point is, I didn’t get burnt except along my hair line which sucked. That’ll teach me to forget to slather my hair in sun screen. On the plus side, it wasn’t as bad as that time I went to Dorney Park and got burnt along where my hair was parted.
That was a disaster.
And my left arm is still mocking me.