I’m spending too much time in the sun. To a lot of people trapped in wintry climates that sentence is as obnoxious as complaining about having too much sex at your local comic book shop, but it isn’t just during my considerable leisure time that I am outside, a job I worked the last few weeks also found me out and about. As my complexion darkens I am left with a dilemma. Should I stay indoors more often during the day or should I start spreading sunscreen on my skin?
Now I know according to common knowledge sunscreen saves you from skin cancer. But once a guy told me that it is not the sun that causes skin cancer, but rather the sunscreen. He said it with such conviction that I’m willing to take his word over any scientific studies that have been published the last twenty years. So every time I put on lotion I feel I’m sending myself one inch closer to a dermatologist. But now that I think about it I might just be suffering from post traumatic stress disorder as two times in my life men have asked me to spread sunscreen on their back. Both times it was heterosexual (or at least metrosexual) men who asked me to perform this act. I refused both times but I think it created a mental image that causes seasickness any time I get near a Coppertone bottle.
I could always cover up I suppose. The other day I saw a woman rollerblading down the sidewalk in what I assumed was the burka of a devout Muslim, but perhaps she just did not want liver spots on her arms. If I followed the Arabian fashion sense there would at the very least be gratitude from my fellow beach goers that less stray hairs would be flying from my back into their vicinity.