The Tanning Experiment

Next week I'll be heading down to the land where beaches are beautiful, dogs roam the streets freely, and the food comes cheaper and more mysterious than it does here in the States. Yes, I'm talking about Mexico. I love Mexico, and not simply for the fact that I served my mission there. The country has a dusty, innocent charm, not unlike the happy little kid that gleefully gives you a hug after playing in the dirt. Every time I go to Mexico I feel happy. I'm not sure entirely why I feel happy. I just do.

Anyway, in preparation of the baking I will receive while under the lovely summer sun, I've decided to venture into the land of tanning. Why, you might ask, have I decided to tan? Well, the last vacation that centered around a beach was the cruise my family and I took a few summers ago. We had a blast playing in the crystal blue waters of the Eastern Caribbean, but my virgin skin took a hell of a beating in the first day of sun. My arms and legs are pretty dark, but my chest-al and back-ius areas are as foreign to the warming rays of Mr. Sun as an Amish child is to a microwave oven. This causes said areas to turn red... nay... purple when exposed for more than a half hour or so, EVEN WITH SUNSCREEN! Yeah! I slather on the SPF 50, folks. I baste myself regularly when out in the sun with only the most protective and fragrant of sun blocking creams and oils. And still, STILL, I somehow manage to burn myself to the point of having to wear a t-shirt when I swim. And then I chafe, and this puts a healthy sized raincloud over my parade.

This summer, I'd like to be able to swim without the burden of a large, abrasive t-shirt slowly eating away at my skin. And that's why I've decided to go tanning. I figure with a good base coat of melanin (the pigment in your skin), and a healthy dose of strong sunscreen, I should be able to enjoy the beach shirt free.

We'll see.