What happens when you are very enthusiastic about the long-awaited, long saved-for vacation of a lifetime? You share everything awesome about what happened during your dream vacation, celebrating your 20th, with all your loved ones who were stuck in the March of H8ll? They all have to act happy for you but the occasional outburst from someone who’s had enough of the hyper happy talk of sunshine and beaches runs out of the room crying, right on our happy parade. I get it. I do. Every single year I was the middle-aged mom of four looking at everyone else going on my dream vacations and I steamed in jealousy and filled with determination as I tortured myself with photos from other people’s vacations.
To make all of you, who are dealing with the winter storm of the season this week, feel so much better about it (ducking now for snowballs headed my way) I would like to talk about my legs. Whew, that kills the happy mood right off, doesn’t it? That is a beacon of hope for those who mire in the clay of despair that they didn’t get to go on a vacay. My legs have never inspired hope, I don’t think.
My legs got fried and I mean crispie fried. The night that I got the burn from direct equatorial sunlight meeting lily-white unprotected legs, we could have bbq’d on those babies. Whoa! Legs on fire! I took the ice bucket, that was there to keep the champagne cold (an anniversary gift from the staff), and dunked a big towel in the frigid water and brought it up to wring out the extra cold, arctic water…except it wasn’t arctic water, it was Jamaican water with ice. Same thing! I put those almost frozen cloths on my legs and the steam that arose from the contact? well you could almost hear it sizzle. I told my husband that I was so hot (with a dramatic groan) and he only agreed with a smirk on his face.
Look closely and you can see the burn…I still had a good time.
I hate being cold and putting any sort of ice on my body so you know it was a good burn that reminded me that I had let myself walk around unprotected. How silly, after so many friends/family/Facebook strangers telling me to apply sunblock, apply again, rinse, repeat. Going from Canada and completely covering our gleamingly white winter bodies, to uncovering them and letting the equatorial sun ball of death shine on our pasty selves, well, it was stupid. I only forgot it for one morning That was all it took. Now the payback is in the insane itch of the healing. I didn’t notice it so much when we were “there” but now with the dry prairie air sucking any moisture that was left in the air my skin is all about the itchy.
And I suppose you are all allowed to laugh at my holiday drama because this was the ONLY non-favorite shenanigan in our whole trip. The trip had fantastic written all over it.
And the itching is driving me wild.
Instead of the awesome tan to remind myself of a great time had, I have crazy itching to remind me. I scratch and say, “Wow what a great time we had” and “Pass me the lotion to MAKE IT STOP!”
PS. No one has actually run out of a room crying, unless you count my daughter, who did actually run out of the room crying. She was determined to pack herself in our suitcase and escape the snow. But we dropped her off at dance and left with her safely NOT in our duffle bags.