I could burn, tan, burn, tan, burn, then tan, and at the end of the summer, if I had spent enough time outside, my overall color was a jaundice yellow.
Not something to flaunt.
But as I got older, I realized I was okay with using the tanless stuff. It protected my skin and turned me a few hundred shades darker than I ever could have gotten naturally.
Until last year.
I think the elevation has finally gotten to me. We live a few thousand feet higher here than anywhere else I've ever lived.
And my skin gave up.
Because now I tan. A kind of tan I had always seen on my dad and grandma. And now I know.
The answer to tanning isn't a lot of melanin. It's complete and utter defeat on behalf of my skin.
Although I am tan, my freckles are multiplying. And my wrinkles now rival those of a baby elephant.
My 15 year old self is ecstatic, my 40 something year old self is panicking and wondering if the spackle they sell in the makeup aisle really works. And if they have it in tan.
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