Today, I tried a new self-tanner. Not one you pick up from a drugstore either. I indulged. This baby was special ordered. Since my skin cancer scare, which we’re still monitoring, I have vowed to never let the sun or a tanning bed toast my skin again. And I won’t break that vow.
Now that I am UV-free, I’ve used a few over-the-counter moisturizers with a hint of “glow” to them. They sort of make me look like day old mac-n-cheese. Not exactly natural. I’ve also tried a few over-the-counter spray tanners. Dear gawd. I looked like I could grace the cover of a Frosted Flakes box. When they say dark, what they really mean is gingerescent. Or maybe carrotsy is a better word. BUT! You get double the bang for your buck with these spray tanners. Not only do they add color to your skin, you’re also giving your bathroom a new paint job. (Not good.)
This new self-tanner, which I will not refer to by name out of fairness, definitely gives some color and is quite natural looking. So what’s the problem you ask? I cannot get this shit off my hands. It’s stuck to my palms like a wet Fruit-Roll-Up. I look like I have been stroking Chewbacca’s head all day. It’s like an inch thick dried on. The instructions explicitly said to wash hands thoroughly after use, which I did. I don’t think I was fast enough. Tomorrow I’ll have to speed apply. Rub on! Rub on! Faster! Rub on! Look for this event at a future Olympic Games near you.
Time to get out the steel wool.
