All in the name of casting a healthy brown glow upon my wickedly white skin. I THOUGHT I had done it all: tan towels, instant tanners, ones where the color darkened “while you slept.” That one made my sheets look like there had been a mass murder but I woke with a lovely marble-ized pattern from my head to my toes. I kinda looked like one of those life-size Saturnia statues, only I was jumping around screaming.

I THOUGHT I had done it all but apparently I hadn’t. And actually if truth be told, I really hadn’t done much in the healthy tan department for quite a while. Except for the time I wore a short dress to someone’s summer wedding and caught sight of my legs in the mirror as we were going out the door. I scooted back into the bathroom and used a foundation I had bought in error that was too dark for my face. I thought why not? If it’s good enough for my face, it ought to be good enough for my legs right?? And hey, there’s a whole black dress separating my face from my legs so if the color didn’t exactly match who’d know?? So I shoved the dress up sticking it in my bra and started to slather the foundation on my feet. Up my legs I went and stopped just inches from my thighs thinking not many people are gonna venture up here today, so it was safe to be half baked. I danced around for a few secs until the foundation dried and when I was done, even I was stunned. My face looked like I was born in Iceland but my gams were pure south of France.

I gratefully remembered to pull my dress out of my underwear and away we went. People were mingling in the SoFla morning when we arrived and we were ushered to our seats in the outdoor pavilion. I thought nothing of sitting down on the white, cotton duck folding chair slipcover tied with little bows. Even though the ceremony was short, the SoFla sun got hotter and hotter. When we were getting up to head into the AIR CONDITIONED hall for lunch, I got up and froze as I turned around. There, like I had been laid out like a stencil were perfect imprints of the back of my legs, ON THE WHITE SLIPCOVER.

Thank God, only the four exiting rows who sat in front of me noticed. And by then they couldn’t exactly figure out who was in that space as I raced into the ladies room. I almost climbed up on the counter to see the back of my legs, back to pasty white but the front was still mahogany save for a few drips that ran from my knee-cap to my ankle!
I now knew why women did not use foundation as leg color.

I jumped off the counter just as more women were coming in. I ran into a stall and for one lunatic moment thought of bathing my legs in the germ infested bowl. Luckily I had not started drinking yet.

Instead I waited until I heard no more voices, ran out, wet some paper towels and used them to schmush the foundation on the front of my legs all around. I was now lighter but even.
Gone so long, I cleaned up my mess and rushed out of the stall. THANK GOD FOR THE 12 MIRRORS THEY HAD OVER THE SINKS. I CAUGHT SIGHT OF MYSELF AT THE 11TH MIRROR JUST INCHES BEFORE I WOULD HAVE THRUST MYSELF BACK INTO THE CROWDED ROOM. This time I had NOT remembered to remove the dress coiled up in my bra.

That was FOUR years ago. I thought I had learned my lesson. I thought I had made peace with my pasty pallor. I had until I saw the spray tan can at my hairdresser’s recently. The legs on the logo were so dark and shiny, so tanned and healthy looking. And the girl behind the desk said it was easy.

Easy maybe for a circus contortionist. Not a zoftig pasty white Jewish girl. But, it was heroin and I was a junkie. Before I knew what hit me, I had the spray color, the glossing lotion, and the “dermabrasion” in a can recommended before you spray to slough off any dead skin.
Back home I sloughed within an inch of my life. I shook the color and standing in my garage on old competitor publications in my bra and underwear, sprayed my legs front and back.
I ran to the master bath to see my handiwork in the full length mirror. I turned on the light. Crap, I was still white just with little speckles. I ran back to the garage and shook the can more vigorously thinking it hadn’t mixed enough. Never once thinking maybe I should read the directions.

Do over.