I've canceled my dermatologist appointment and instead, I am going to lie in a tanning bed for twenty minutes.
This is just wrong. But I'm gonna do it, because lying somewere warm right now will feel a whole lot better than some old guy poking around my flab and pasty body who will eventually just end up telling me I have sun damage.
No shit. I lived in Florida until I was 16. Nothing's going to change that. We baked ourselves silly any chance the sun was out and the temperature was about 60 degrees in college (remember girls). We grabbed tinfoil by the foot and strategically placed it underneath our bodies to get maximum sun exposure. We scoffed at SPFs and bought Baby Oil in 48-ounce sized bottles. We basked in the Spring-Break Daytona sun eight hours straight, drinking tons of beers and wearing bikinis and no sun screen.
So guess what? I'm cold. I'm drearily bummed out with this effed-up weather, and two friends suggested a visit to Mr. Tanning Bed. This sure as hell beats a visit to Mr. Let's-grope-you-all-over-in-search-of-non-existent-moles-and-tell-you-you-have-sun-damage-and-recommend-some-overly-priced-cosmetic-shit-to-rub-on-my-body-while-also-charging-me-a-freaking-co-pay.
I'm spending that co-pay at the tanning salon!