I let it burn.
Am now a member of the rare and highly criticized Red Race.
This greatly complicates my life, as I am now completely incapable of completing mundane yet essential tasks, such as dressing self or moving any appendage more than two inches.
This has also become a new means of flirting for me - entirely by accident, of course.
Now, flirting is not exactly my forte in any language. Virginia on the Flirt should (and does) terrify the male population. You see, I’m not exactly good at it, and most of the time wind up punching whomever it is I’m working to attract. Note: potential suitors are not fans of physical abuse. At least not of that nature.
At any rate, leapt into the arms of an Argentine at the subway station this evening. Was attempting to walk up stairs while keeping legs completely straight when lost balance and began teetering over. A kind (touchy?) hombre caught me and straightened me again. According to my amigas, he was very attractive. Unfortunately, I did not get a look at his face as I immediately returned to the task at hand, but I do think such an individual could come in handy. Would not have to use quite so many Band-Aids.
Various individuals have asked me how my weekend was besides the burn. Oh, I assure them, it was spectacular.
I must admit, dear readers, that this is not true, as I honestly have no recollection of the weekend beyond the burn.
I am in a state of despair. Will I be red forever?!?
It’s alright, though, I suppose, as I’m not completely alone in my agony.
Two of my friends were also molested by the sun’s rays. Well, three, if you count the Asian. Which we do not. We have valid reasons for this, as we collectively and utterly racistly decided that Asians do not burn. Am not sure how we came to this conclusion – but it was a wonderful opportunity to make her our Aloe Vera slave.
In retrospect, this was perhaps a bit mean.
This slight dilemma of roasted flesh made for a rather difficult busride. We quickly discovered that there was no true way to sit without having any part of our bodies touching the seat (I have since vowed to begin taking Lessons on Levitation).
We howled for hours, more or less.
I’m afraid our presence may have scarred some small children. They seemed to be most fascinated with us, as with as many races as they have in Argentina, Red seems to be nonexistent here. It was also probably a bit surprising for them to watch us rub green goo on our bellies. And not speak any Spanish. Or any language, really, other than that of Great Suffering.
For those of you curious about my bikini usage, I must admit with great shame and minimal surprise that yes, I did encounter difficulty. Evidently bought the top too small and the bottom too big. Would have been fine, but the waves engaged me in a Battle for the Bikini.
Rude.
Bought a chocolate bar to ease the pain a bit, but forgot about it, and it can now only be classified as a liquid.
This was nothing but a slight hindrance to my consumption of it.
First, opening the wrapper was a bit complicated. Tried to kind of squish the chocolate mush down to one location, but evidently had opened it from the other end earlier in the day (really must begin writing down every action I take), so it suddenly spurted from the opposite end, all over my fingers.
Undeterred, I proceeded to happily lick it from my digits, and in the process, smeared it across my furniture, where it now resides with the glitter. Did not notice this detail in my complete concentration on an attack strategy.
For my next step, I decided that licking the wrapper would be most beneficial. This choice now befuddles me, for naturally, I concluded the process with more chocolate on my nose than in my mouth.
It was while contemplating further action that it hurled itself to the floor. Game over.
Tomorrow is Ultimate Skip Day!
Tony and I cannot wait.
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