Yep. I happened again. I got attacked by the spray tanning apparatus again. That is my story and I am sticking to it. Mind you, I am very out of practice, which is proven by my pale and pasty skin. I have a good reason, so don't think I have just channeling a ghost for fun.
(DISCLAIMER: This blog post is being typed between assignments at the office. Therefore, I haven't used the the same tense throughout. I am a communications graduate, but this doesn't count- right? Thanks!)
This episode caught me more by surprise than the first battle we locked horns in. Another defense strategy for KC- this was a fluke. No one could have predicted this would occur. They aren't supposed to operate in rogue mode.
I was taking my sweet time Friday afternoon, all afternoon. I had dinner plans and errands, but was in zero hurry. So, I waited in line for the teens to sun their buns, spray their rumps and otherwise just act a fool. I texted my sister-in-law, we finalized dinner plans and I opted to be the one to get call ahead and get their first. I am never first, BTW.
Once I was all set, I sauntered into the room not be outdone by some poor high school girls with zero boobs and no future of keeping their waif like stature once college rolls around. After getting partially undressed, my phone buzzed and I formulate the response text. Over my shoulder, while typing, I hear the lady from the machine talking. It had to be coming from the other room, right? NOPE. Not this time.
There I stand, no cap on, bra still attached to my body, zero barium cream stuff to protect my nails from looking like they are getting attached by a fungus. The machine is almost ready for take off without it's paying passenger! Not on my watch! I fling myself toward the machine while sling shotting my bra toward the wall. I slide across the floor, get in position and have two seconds to spare for oxygen. First pass completed.
Whoops. I realize the whole no cap thing and fear my hair will start falling out in clumps or something. I jump out, grab a cap and slap it on my head, only to figure out it isn't the head one, but the feet one. I am a conehead and all, but it didn't do me justice. My pony tail hung out the back and my bangs were plastered to my forehead. Second pass coming whether I like it or not. I am back in, lungs full of air, ready for the second pass. I won't worry that I am not in the right "position." Zip and zap- tanned front side.
That is when I look forward through my sheep dog bangs and think "Something isn't right.... OH HELL!" my bangs were plastered to my forehead, not pulled back as they are supposed to be therefore leaving a sweet faux tan line on my damn face. BREAKING NEWS- the world kept on turning:)
So, I am resigned to finish my session for fear of pulling a Ross. I get dry, get dressed and tool out of there. I go to dinner and life goes on. The only ramification if have found, so don't get your hair spray tanned: it smells like Copenhagen!
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