My Life Gets Kind Of Boring Need Something That I Can Confess

Go a week without seeing the sun.
Think I should let my hair grow out.
Buy a Celine Dion album.
Turn down a dessert.

Those are a few things on my list of: Things I'll never do again. It's not necessarily a Murtaugh list, because I'm not banning them due to old age. I'm banning them because they're just horrible ideas. And now, you can add "Go to a tanning salon" to this list. I visited one of these establishments while I was in Utah. The reasons were obvious. Despite living in the Caribbean, no one short of the Stay-Puft Marshmallow or the Michelin Man were rivaling me in pasty-whiteness. And it wasn't even like I had a farmers tan. I was ghostly from head to toe. On top of this, I knew there was a boating excursion on the weekend, so I figured I should at least put forth an effort to look like I lived in a place where a beach was no farther than 15 minutes away at any point.

So I went to the tanning salon one afternoon. I had been before and remembered that at least once I got a mild sunburn so this time I was just going to do whatever the girl behind the counter said first-timers did. Why I believed that this girl who had been working for only a couple weeks, and really only had to know the subtle differences between the four different types of beds (Who knew they were 4 types? Why is suntan bed research getting funded?) and possibly the lotions prominently displayed, would know the precise service to maximize my results, I'll never know. But I figured whatever her experience was, it was more than mine. So she tells me that for the best returns, the first timers take 7 minutes in the "Ultra" bed. Now, I liked the idea of the Ultra bed because it reminded me of Fleer Ultra baseball cards, which were the coolest when they first came out. I told the girl that that sounds like a plan. She asked if I knew how to use the bed.

Now, I should tell you that the last time I used a tanning bed was a couple years ago. back then, they were simple. You laid down and closed the lid. That's it. This thing felt more like a video game. I had speakers playing radio stations, and could even have plugged in an iPod if I brought it. I had buttons controlling fan speeds. There were different bulbs just for my face, a voice command telling me about the bed, and the plastic was extra wide and ergonomically contoured. I felt like this was the bed that Judy Jetson will likely use to maintain her color. It did everything but ask me if I had been working out lately. (No, I hadn't. However, I have started. No lie.)

I rode out the seven minutes, having cool breezes keeping my brow only slightly damp, while Kenny Chesney told me about the boys of fall. It wasn't bad at all. I still hate those stupid eye things because they feel ridiculous and uncomfortable, but beyond that, a pleasurable experience. Then the next day came. And the sunburn was there. For unknown reasons, only on my left side, but from torso to thigh, I was pink. Not pleased. Thankfully, it wasn't so bad that I was non-functional. But it was a nuisance I had to deal with for the next couple days. Growing up in Florida, getting sunburned was almost a summer tradition. But over the years, I like to think I've gotten smarter and have begun installing impediments. And then I go and do something like this.

Never again. Never.

Word.