There's nothing quite like hearing Irish bodies by a pool in Orlando being described as a row of frozen chips on sunloungers to make a girl question her decision to go au natural for her holliers in the Florida sun.
Well, Reader, last week I was that girl.
I'd like to say that it was a deliberate two fingers to the fake tan that's ruled every other holiday I've ever been on. I wish I could tell you that I was being oh-so-SS11. The truth, however, is that a last-minute, mid-packing discovery that one night of the trip would require a cocktail dress sent me into a full on "ohmyGodIhavenothingtowear!" tailspin and completely scuppered my plans to layer on a little self tan the night before we went away.
I thought about pulling an Aphrodite and getting my golden glow on when we arrived - I even bought some St. Tropez and a mitt in the airport - but never quite got around to actually doing it in the end.
Using a bit of Sally Hansen Airbrush Legs on the night of the fancy dinner was as close as I came to being tanned all week, and the rest of the time I felt hyper aware of my frozen chip-alike whiteness.
How well are you honestly doing at embracing the pale?
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