My Mother Was Right: Work Blog

When I was a kid, I hung out with a Spanish girl, an Italian girl, a Puerto Rican girl and a mutt who was mixed Hungarian, Scottish, Irish and God knows what else-- but she was born with jaundice. See a pattern? They all had skin that would tan.

I, of course, didn't. My mother would slather me with sunscreen, too thick to rub in, coating my portly thighs like a pig covered in Crisco. When I got old enough, I insisted on doing it myself, and in our first real power struggle, my mother would insist on squeezing the SPF into my hands. She would put about four cups of SPF 70 into my palms, telling me to "rub it in." I, of course, obeyed-- rubbing the lotion in... the back of my knees.

My preteen years were filled with water blisters and 2nd degree burns, oatmeal baths and aloe. As a result, I now have freckles permanently seared onto my skin in the shape of a bathing suit. A thick strapped, 80s bathing suit.

Anyway. It's one of my many regrets-- one of the many ways I regret treating my body. I am now a devotee of spray tans. On some level I still believe a tan makes you look thinner (this was part of my motivation as a kid, as opposed to say, dieting and playing sports)-- so while I am orange, I am still looking 10lbs lighter.

In this blog that I wrote for work, I explore a few others-- common ways we damage our skin. Smoking, tanning, all the good stuff. Check it out if you're bored!