Since I am leaving for a trip to Cuba in January, I am supposed to start tanning. I am pale. I am not Maryanne pale, mind you, but I am pale nonetheless. Most of the time I can generate some good colour by the end of summer, but this summer was a write off - with moving and illness, I didn't get a lot of good sun time. Next year, maybe.
I've been putting off going to tan this time. I find the beds awkward and suffocating. The idea of closing myself in a hot, coffin-like structure to roast myself is mostly unappealing. But, it is either that or burn myself to a crisp in Cuba and spend most of my glorious two weeks crying, "Ouch, ouch, don't touch me, that hurts."
I asked around about tanning places. And everyone referred me to the same place. A walk in tanning salon. Attached to a car wash.
A car wash.
Seriously. I'm not even kidding. You can go and get your car washed while you tan. Who ever thought those two things went together? Whose brain child was this and why?
I went anyways. It was cheap and clean and close. But I walk into the salon and am expecting a nice twenty-something girl with a fake tan and bleached hair. Instead, I find a middle age, balding, chubby old man with tattoos. And the fake tan.
I think there is a lot of down time for the car wash.