Mystical

I have red hair. A normal year round job. And I live in Portland. This means I have pale skin, and a farmer’s tan. Well more like a modern day farmer’s daughter tan…but you get the picture. So, in preparation for Jeff’s wedding I went spray tanning.

Have you even been spray tanning before? Kind of intimidating, right? First, there’s the whole turning orange possibility, then there’s the actual machine itself, not to mention the human error factor. My good friend gave me specific instructions on where to go, which tan to get, and how to work it.

I arrive at the recommended tanning salon and ask for the recommended tan only to be told that the machine had just broken and wouldn’t be fixed until the next day. Not going to work for me. So, I went to a different place in my neighborhood that I knew absolutely nothing about...

I was greeted by a Mouseketeer. She was peepy, tan, and miniature. We did not bond. She spoke like a valley girl, but acted like I was the dumb one. She also really, really loved tanning. So I attempt to ask her a few questions about the tan I was ordering.

Erica: Will this make me look orange?
Tween Valley Girl: Mmmm…well…I prefer the beds.
Erica: Yes, so awesome for you…will this make me look orange?
Tween Valley Girl: No. Actually, a lot of really, really pale girls like it. And if it does look orange just scrub really, really hard in the shower and then you’ll love it! You’re gonna love it!

And we go on and on like this. She takes me to the room, literally acts out every step of the process, tells me how “freaky” it’s going to be, and then skips away to read her Miley Cirus biography. At this point I have a strong dislike for her.

I tan and walk out of the room. On my way out of the building she mentions, “oh by the way, you will smell. Not kidding.”

Erica: What do you mean, I will smell?
Tween Valley Girl: Yes, it will smell so bad. But, only you can smell it. No one else can.

Who is this girl? And who would ever hire her?

But, like clockwork two to three hours later I was smelling up a storm. Smelling and itching and gettin’ my tan on. I also had Miss Tween Oregon to thank for the lovely tan lines around my ankles. Perhaps she could have advised blending in the tanning solution rather than creating a line? But, she didn’t.

The next morning it was mani/pedi’s with the rest of the bridal party. I loved my nail technician, he was awesome. I bet he was friends with Miss Tween Oregon. He took the liberty to judge every inch of my skin from the knees down…out loud. “Oh, you went spray tanning”. Laugh, laugh, laugh. He also took the liberty to assume that because I was fake enough to go spray tanning I was, of course, fake enough to die my hair. This was the only explanation for the fact that my sister and I do not share the same hair color, in his mind.

At the end of the day, I am glad I went. I didn’t end up looking orange, the smell kind of wore off, and I got rid of my tan lines. Plus, it makes a good story I guess…