…be­cause I am em­bar­rassed. I have the worst case of sun­burn in re­cent memory.

When I was young, before there was talk of de­plet­ing ozone lay­ers and melanoma, my 14-year-old self would slather on baby oil and bake in the sun. When I was 30 years old, I would visit a tan­ning sa­lon to ac­quire a ‘base tan’ be­fore spend­ing days bak­ing un­der the Mediterranean sun. Born with a more olive-toned hue to my skin, what would nor­mally re­duce most fair-skinned peo­ple and red­heads into ashes gave me a few days of mild dis­com­fort. All for that glow­ing, sun-kissed, California Girl look.

But old, harm­ful habits die hard. While I don’t “sun­tan” any­more, I still do silly things, like slather­ing on tan­ning oil with a low SPF of 4. Or sit­ting in ex­tra­or­di­nar­ily hot sun­shine for hours with no cov­er­age. I tell my­self that since I’m not at the beach in a bikini ly­ing in the sun for hours, it doesn’t count. <facepalm>

So, I suf­fer for my stu­pid­ity, if not for beauty.

If you see a woman on the street whose knees and chest are vi­brant red, feel free to laugh. Hopefully, I can be shamed into smartness.