A Whiter Shade of Pale
I am a lucky lady. This Easter I was treated to a holiday in Tenerife. And not just in Tenerife, but in a 5* hotel in Tenerife. Champagne on arrival and everything. Yup. Check. Me. Out.
You may think I’ve finally made it; that I’ve been swept of my feet by Prince Charming and he turns out to be a millionaire to boot. No such luck. My benefactors on this occasion (and most others, truth be told) were my parents. Does this bother me? Not one iota. You’ll have already noted that my family are close, so a week in Tenerife luxury with my family promised to be an absolute delight.
That said, a holiday in the sun doesn’t come without certain trials for the bona fide red head… My skin is naturally translucent. That’s no exaggeration. Well, ok, a slight exaggeration perhaps, but only slight. If it wasn’t for my freckles you’d be able to trace the veins around my body without much difficulty. As it is though, my skin is generally the colour of milk covered in the most complex dot-to-dot puzzle imaginable.
I will be eternally grateful to the primary school dinner lady who taught me (at a very young age) to love my freckles. I remember her stopping me one sunny day and telling me that I must be very beautiful because the sun had kissed me so often. So, my freckles henceforth became “kisses from the sun” and a confidence-booster rather than something to be self-conscious about. I applaud that dinner lady for what she did for my self-esteem, even though she clearly lied. It has since become abundantly clear that the sun does not love my skin. And the feeling is evidently mutual.
The week before the holiday my sister messaged the family on our group chat (yes, we have a group chat) saying: This time next week we’ll have been in Tenerife for 2 hours! To which my Dad replied: And I predict that Anna will be burnt already. Based on previous experience, he has a fair point.
It’s fair to say, that I don’t look my best in a swimming costume anyway, but in a swimming costume and slathered with factor 50 sun cream I reach new levels of unattractive. Fortunately, clever people have invented sun protection which is see-through, so in recent years I have been spared this extra level of shame whilst lounging by the pool. However, the price I pay for this vanity comes with pitfalls of its own.
Within an hour of touchdown in Tenerife the family was poolside and prostrate. I’d had two glasses of arrival champagne, and was grateful to my sister for having the foresight to remove the sun lotion from the suitcases before we ventured to the pool to wait for our rooms to be ready. Smugly, I smeared it into my legs, determined to prove my father wrong.
But because it’s translucent, you can’t see where you’ve put it, and in my alcohol-fuelled euphoria I clearly didn’t pay enough attention. Consequently, I was forced to endure the joys of lobster-red leopard-print blotches all the way up the inside of my left leg for the rest of the week, hoping beyond all hope that nobody did indeed check. me. out.
