All my bags were packed for my week at the beach, and I had finessed my essential skin creams into a clear quart ziplock bag along with my other toiletries. The dogs were on high alert as I scrambled from room to room checking things off my list. They knew something was up, and they didn’t like it.
Khaki shorts, flip flops, several bright colored tees, sunglasses, baseball cap and sunscreen were tossed into my carry-on. It’s not nearly often enough that I get to loll about for days on end sipping piña coladas and napping in a cabana ocean-side, so I was beside myself.
I even had time to kill, two hours to be precise, before the dog sitter arrived, and then we were off to catch our flight to the a palm tree-filled resort with unlimited sunshine.
I sat down near my poodle, Stella, when I caught a glimpse of my pale complexion in the mirror. Oh, horror! I abandoned sun worship years ago and traded in my golden St. Tropez tan for SPF 50. The tradeoff was that pair of white legs staring back at me from my chambray walking shorts, and they were hardly recognizable, believe you me.
On a whim, I made a panicked call to the nearest tanning parlor to inquire about those spray tans I had “heard tell of,” and the sweet lady on the other end of the line must have known she had a newbie. I asked a dozen questions before even catching my breath, just to hear a comforting sound from a very sweet Suzy who said, “Come on over now, and I will take good care of you, David.” Off I went on my quest for some instant color. My expectations were not high since most of my own experiences with do-it-yourself tans at home have left me orange and unhappy.
Suzy met me and walked me through the spray tan world, and with a wink and a nod, she took this pasty white skin to Florida-worthy in 90 seconds flat. I confess the tall, Star Trek-esque walk-in capsule was a bit intimidating at first, but after rehearsing my four standard poses, I was left alone in a private room to disrobe, apply barrier lotion to my hands and feet, and assume the first pose inside the spray tan contraption.
I had a few “What am I doing?” moments, but once I pressed the green button, the machine talked me through all four poses: front-facing with hands spread like a cat on a hot tin roof, two more that felt like staring in a video of the pop song “Walk Like an Egyptian,” and the final one with palms flipped up like holding a softball. Of course, the finale is the fans that completely dry your body. That part was totally cool.
Yep, 90 seconds and I was clothed, out the door, and on my way to the sunshine state with my gorgeous faux tan. The best news is that it has not rubbed off on my new white Polo shorts. It lasted five days, and I did not risk the chance of premature aging or skin cancer. I must admit I went from amateur to professional spray tanner without a hitch or a glimpse of orange and, shh, not a soul at the beach knew I was faking it. Bring on the sun.
Former Columbus resident David Creel owns Beautiful With David salon in Jackson. Contact him at [email protected].
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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