As far as I'm concerned that big 'ol glowing orb in the sky is the name of the game. I love a sunny day. I LIVE for a sunny day. I don't know why I don't live in a place where a sunny day is so darn rare. I know, I know, I wouldn't appreciate it if it were an everyday occurence, but that's wrong, I know it, I'm not like that. I could never get tired of a bright, clear, cloudless day, where everything takes on postcard gorgeosity.
Now the whole skin cancer threat is a problem, both my mother and father-in-law have had malignant melanoma. This is not a part of my sun worshipping equation. And it puts a nasty cloud over my little love affair, but gosh, give me a beach and a cloudless day, and I'm golden, literally. I have always loved a good tan. I look better tan. My nose looks smaller and my cellulite looks less cellulite-y. I have baked, burned, toasted and gotten girl of Ipanema on rooftops, beaches, grass, blankets, chairs, ponds, lakes, docks, floats, boats and porches. I have started as early as April and ended as late as October pushing my face up to the sky and soaking in the aging and harmful rays. I wish I could say I hated it, but I don't. What I am, however, is afraid of it. I do fear skin cancer, and with good reason, it's out there mucking up the whole sun God ethic. Party pooper.
And so, I fake tan (This is what I call a true step for mankind), use sunscreen and try not to bake anymore. When I go to the beach, I let myself tan, but I also actually use the umbrella a fair amount. It's not as much fun, but I can still experience the sunny day mood (great) and the visual beauty (amazing).
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