Let's Get Naked!

It's time for me to be comfortable in my own skin.
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Let’s Get Naked!

It’s time for me to be comfortable in my own skin.

-Sunny Gault, Divine Caroline

-A naked woman

Let’s get straight to the point.

I’m beginning to think I have some sort of complex with being naked … buck naked.

Take yesterday for example. I was looking a little pasty, and rather than wait thirty days to get a nice, even tan in the cancer beds, I thought I’d hop in the spray tan booth. You know, that machine where you awkwardly stand on a metal plate waiting for automatic sprayers to cover you in a tan mist from head to foot? Good times.

So, I get to the tanning salon, and I see all these signs advertising airbrush tanning. Great. That must be what they’re calling the spray tan booth now. Must be a new marketing strategy. I decide to empty my bank account to purchase three tanning sessions. A reasonable purchase, I thought, especially in a recession.

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Typically, the cute college girls at the front desk have to program the tanning machine for you. I walk back to the room and wait … and wait. About five minutes later, the girl finds me and informs me that I’m waiting in the wrong room. Actually, I’m not. I could spot this evil contraption from a mile away. “No,” she says, “You’re getting an airbrush tan, that means it’s done by hand.” Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.

You must be joking. “I’m not sure that’s going to work,” I said. “I don’t like tan lines, I tan in the nude.” “Yeah, no worries, most people do,” she said, “but we have disposable tops and bottoms if that would make you feel more comfortable.” And it did. But it didn’t stop my heart from beating so hard it felt like something was going to burst right out of my chest. You know, like that scene from the movie Alien.

She leads me to a new room, and on the way there she convinces me airbrush tanning in the nude gives you the best results. I agree to do it. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good deal.

We get to the room. She tells me to take off all my clothes and put on this horrible, little cotton hat to protect my hair. What? It’s not bad enough to be completely buck naked in front of a stranger? You’d rather me look like a naked lunch lady? Seriously? Seriously. She leaves. Meanwhile, I look for some sort of window and plan my escape.


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