Pale-aholics Anonymous

I am Megan and I am pale.

If you either a) know me, or b) have ever seen a picture of me, then you are probably saying, “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” But it is a fact—a fact that haunts me every spring.

Spring is the time of year when women break out the skirts and the strappy sandals and the sleeveless shirts. And somehow, it seems that nearly all of these women have lovely tans. Sigh. I will never be one of them. And while I have come to appreciate my freckles and complexion, I get self-conscious, you know, with such pale skin. Legs, mostly. I dread wearing skirts because I fear the reflection off my pasty white legs will blind someone. Okay, clearly that is an exaggeration. But the self-conscious part is not.

This year I gave in to the temptation and bought some of that gradual self-tanner lotion. The kind that you use just like any other lotion, and over a period of several days builds up a little tan. I’ve been using it for three or four days now, and today I wore a skirt. (A cute new skirt, by the way, and I must say I’m pretty pleased with it.) And wouldn’t you know it, the minute I step out of my car on my way into the office I see that my ankles and feet look a bit streaky. Streaky in a whoops-fake-tan-mistake kind of way. Great. What’s a girl to do? I suppose I must just wear skirts proudly and come to terms with it.

I am pale.