Orange you glad I didn’t stay bananas?

I’m on the mailing list of a swank, Soho salon and last night they held a swank, Soho event for their premier clientele featuring a host of free services. Mini facials, skin analysis, makeovers, spray tans. I signed up for all of them, assuming that I would at least get to do one or two – there was a long wait for everything so I wasn’t really willing (or wanting) to wait around for random mini-versions of spa treatments that wouldn’t be all that relaxing.

Of course, what I had feared the most actually happened – that the only service that would become available after what seemed like an interminable wait (in a tiny room full of size zero 20-year-olds and one woman who looked uncomfortably pregnant and was just there for all the free fruit) would be the spray tanning.

Of course I never say no to free things though. You should know that. I mean, you already know that. So I was like “Yes! Liz! Me! Right here!” and went into the spraying room. A lovely Russian woman sized me up and said (because free tans are by no means comprehensive) “Which part you want sprayed?”

Because you see, dear readers, I only had the choice to have my face or my legs done. Before I could even make my tan Sophie’s choice by saying “My legs,” because hello, these gams is pasty (all of me is pasty, you should know – I am just shy of being translucent), she said “You face.” I was like “Oh really? You think?” and she left the room, called out to someone else “She want her legs!” – and then there was a bunch of muttering. I think she was worried that doing my legs would make me look ridiculous, you know, what with my lower half being on the receiving end of the Great Pumpkin’s dominant genes and my top half looking more Casper. You know what else makes you look ridiculous? Having any ONE body part spray-tanned, and not doing the rest. But by no real choice of my own, face it was.

I kept a tank top on and took off my over-shirt and a light mist washed over my face. After a few minutes of waiting, I was able to put my shirt back on and I hit the streets with a brownish, metallic tinge to my skin. I had to run to Pearl River to do an obligatory noodles and soy sauce run – I know, wherever I go, even Soho, the most expensive shopping neighborhood, I manage to find a way to buy groceries- so I walked around thinking “Damn, I bet I look good right now.” I figure that my glow is making people take notice and say wow, I wonder where SHE just came back from (or “I wonder where her face just came back from! Because the rest of her got a visit from the Liquid Paper Correcting Fluid fairy!”).

By the time I got home, I was like, yes, I am sure I look fine. In fact, I bet this has faded a little bit and it looks natural and Melanin-Loving Companion will be impressed. Errr, maybe not. I think his first words (when he regained the ability to speak) were “Please wash that. Now.” “But,” I protested “I kinda wanna be tan!” and he basically told me “Tan is one thing…But you are not it.” I admit it, it didn’t even look like I was another race or something, it just looked like I was experimenting with base for a high school play. Perhaps you can be the judge, readers. Please note my pasty arm (same color as the pasty envelope) for comparison.

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    • Kathy
    • June 13th, 2008

    Oh, Liz, I’m so sorry, honey, but that is beyond hilarious. You look like your body was buried in the sand up to your head!!!

    • Becky
    • June 15th, 2008

    That is the scariest thing I have ever scene. Are they doing a remake of the movie “Mask” anytime soon?

    • Cheddar
    • June 16th, 2008

    I’m a scarey now!

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