Two Tan or Not Too Tan

Spontaneity, common sense and I have trouble when we all hang out together. It's that situation where sometimes three's a crowd. Common sense is the first to get left behind.

Such was the case this spring when my daughter insisted on that must have prom look accessory- the even, sun-kissed tan.

No problem I thought, we did the same thing in 1979. I paused for a flashback of bikini clad me in my mother's kitchen tearing off six foot sheets of aluminum foil and dragging them out to the lawn. I laid them out carefully avoiding gritty ice piles that might be there until mid-May in Michigan. A few landscaping stones placed on each corner kept the wind from wisking away my homemade solar tanning blanket. With baby oil rubbed onto every inch of exposed skin, I'd stretch out on the crinkly, tin bed and undo my straps to avoid a tan line that might not coincide with my dress. If I was lucky the weather would cooperate and give me at least 55 degrees with that sunshine. I was modest then, as I am today and made sure my oversized t-shirt was right by my side in case the mailman had a delivery or a neighbor dropped by unexpectedly. It was cold and it was risky, but vanity whispered that sporting a suntan on prom night would make it all worthwhile.

As it turned out, my daughter wasn't talking about anything even close to my vision from 1979. She knew right where the tanning salon nearest to our house was located and she knew they were offering a student rate of $25 for one month of daily tanning visits. I hadn't paid any attention to this subtle establishment, because I would never even consider being a customer there. My daughter's power of persuasion found a hole in my resolve and we drove over to have a look.

With my skepticism dial turned to high alert, the toasty-skinned sweet young thing on duty at the counter didn't help much to edge out my concern over the eery, blue glow emanating from underneath closed doors flanking both sides of the checkout. Spunky confirmed that for $25 students could visit once every day for one month for mere minutes and have a beautiful bronze by prom night. My daughter threw me the questioning eye. This is about when spontaneity and I dumped common sense, thus alleviating me of my fear that this was a bad place where a person's chance of developing disease is heightened just by being in the lobby. I became irrational. Since my daughter still didn't have her driver's license, I would have to taxi her over every day. Sooo, maybe I would go with the if you can't beat 'em, join 'ems - I checked out the price list. The same deal she was getting would cost me 30 bucks. Ridiculous. Spontaneity elbowed me in the side and I handed over my debit card. The price included a shiny set of orange Wink Ease to protect my eyes.

Within three seconds my daughter was gone and I was in dark room #11 staring at a cocoon shaped, tanning bed that reminded me of my George Foreman grill. A little neon timer embedded in the wall counted down the minutes that remained before the ultraviolet rays that I had just paid for would come pouring out of the acrylic bed. I guess I don't have to mention that bathing suits aren't usually worn in these cookers. I could hear crystal clear voices on the other side of the wall. There was a crack between the door and the jamb wide enough for a note written on a piece of cardboard to pass through. Above where I stood, a winding air vent pipe with a 12 inch diameter mouth was staring down at me. It was something out of a Dr. Seuss drawing and I was pretty sure there was a hidden camera inside. Countdown- three minutes.

I stepped out from underneath the camera, stripped down to my zippity doo das and pushed the "start" button. UV rays flooded the room. I jumped into the human sandwich maker and pulled down the lid. I folded up a long scarf I found in my purse and draped it over my ta tas. Barely safe, I noticed my eye protectors were missing. Up went the top. Off flew the scarf. I fished the Wink Ease out of my jeans pocket, unstuck them from their paper backing, folded them to form a cone and stuck them onto my closed eyelids. Now I couldn't find my scarf. I felt for the floor. I'm not sure why they call these Wink Ease, because there is no winking when you are wearing these little babies. The door to the cubicle next to mine shut, which rattled my room and splintered my nerves. I dove back under the George Foreman and closed the lid. My whole body was stiff with fright. Common sense passed a note through the crack. It said, "What on earth are you doing in there with your clothes off- this is a very bad idea."

I opened the cover slightly to see how many more minutes I had to tan. A door handle twisted and hinges creaked. It sounded like someone was coming in. I yanked the top down hard. Crack. Did I break it? I peeked out. Nobody. The music from the sound system blared. I was still as death; my eyeballs were wide open beneath the Wink Ease. I wasn't sure if my eyes were properly protected, let alone anything else. Boom! I sucked in sharply, more UV rays than air. The lights explode when they turn off. It was over. Top still worked. Darting from the bed, being careful to avoid the video, I dressed in a record two seconds flat. "Reflect that on your neon timer!" I spoke up at the camera. Tossed my hair around a little, opened the door and calmly strode out.

"So, how'd it go?" I casually asked my daughter who was already in the waiting area.

Dropping People magazine on the chair, she and I walked out. Her reply came in a wisp, as if she'd just woken from a deep slumber, "It was great...so relaxing.."

We did go back. For me it was because I'd already paid and I didn't want to waste the money. I didn't mind the idea of being a little tan. But I found it doesn't take much UV time before my skin is pretty dark. Going around town with this shade of brown by the first week of May in Michigan is a dead giveaway that it didn't come from the sun. It's almost embarrassing. I have about six visits left, but I'm done. Overall, my research confirms the note of common sense- copping a tan from ultraviolet radiation at the salon is probably a very bad idea.

This story proves that every once in a while the thinking cap shorts out (see profile "About Me")

Heidi