I Should Know Better

The good news is my legs are no longer pasty white. The bad news is pink is painful.

I made a strategic error yesterday. Me, who routinely tells my children to use sunscreen, forgot to take her own advice. 


I view my painful, bright red striped legs, and think, “Angie, you idiot.”

Yesterday Keith and I took our first beach trip of the 2012 summer season. The beach was calling his name and he was eager to answer its call.

He gives me the stink-eye when I stop to chop celery. I’m still trying to lose weight and know that sunbathing is strenuous work and I will probably work up an appetite so wanted to bring food that won’t sabotage my diet.

He can’t understand why it takes females so long to get ready. He grabs his swim trunks and towel and is good to go. He wisely bites his tongue and putters in the garage while I get ready.

Even after losing weight this year, I dread being seen in a swimsuit. My twenty-year-old swimsuit died two years ago and hasn’t been replaced. It’s painful to see my lumpy reflection in the mirror and I hesitate to inflict this seen-better-days body on people who go to the beach to relax, not be scared.

I borrow Erica’s swimsuit. A ten minute search finally locates my black swimshorts in Christina’s laundry basket, wet from yesterday’s canoe trip. Drying the shorts takes another ten minutes.

At last we are on the way. I hesitate to ask, hoping Keith has a few more molecules of patience. “Can we stop at Subway?”

“Seriously?”

“Well, it is lunchtime.”

“Fine.” (Insert irritated, impatient martyr’s voice.)

Erica and I split a footlong Weight-Watcher approved Turkey Breast sandwich on 9-grain Wheat bread. Forty minutes later we’re at the beach. There are closer beaches but Cornucopia is by far Keith’s favorite.

To save time I apply 50 SPF sunscreen in the car. I thoroughly cover the front and sides of my aging body, intending to do the back when I get out of the car. 

Our corner of Lake Superior has not fully recovered from recent storms and flooding. Small choppy waves slap the shore and leave an unattractive two-foot band of floating debris. First-time visitors to Lake Superior might assume the lake is always brown and cloudy and full of debris. They won’t know the lake is normally clear and beautiful.

It’s a little windy. We choose a spot and settle in. I sit in my chair covered with a big beach towel. Keith doesn’t care that it’s cold. He’s determined that no matter what, it’s summer and he’s going in the water.

I can’t get warm. Rather than a swimsuit, I should have worn sweatclothes. I spread my towel and am happy to find that it is much nicer down on the sand out of the wind.

Sadly, I forget to put sunscreen on my back side. So while I’m contentedly enjoying the warm sand, reading Coop by Michael Perry, the sun broils my hinter regions.

Thankfully we don’t stay long. Keith doesn’t want to press his winter-white body’s luck during his first summer beach excursion. We leave relaxed and refreshed after an hour of beach therapy.

Three hours later Keith says that I’m sunburned. I don’t feel sunburned so shrug off his comment. While grocery-shopping, I notice that my legs are sore but I’m on a mission so don’t give it much thought.

Back home, I finally pay attention and am horrified to see a bright pink uneven stripe down the back of my legs. I wonder if it’s a bug bite and maybe a life-threatening infection is running down my leg, until I notice the stripe stops at the swimshort line.

I am dumbfounded to be sunburned. Me, the sensible, cautious, careful one, who always slathers sunscreen on anyone who will let me, has done the unthinkable. I have the world’s wonkiest sunburn. I can’t figure out why I have a pink skunk stripe.

Then I remember putting sunscreen on in the car. Which means the front and sides got covered, but not the back. I must not apply sunscreen evenly because the sides are jagged and uneven. There’s also a few white spots in a sea of pink. The good news is SPF 45 works. The bad news is it only works where it is applied.

The pain increases throughout the evening. I didn’t know ankles could get sunburned. Keith applies lotion and says that it has little particles. I’m still reading Coop and not paying attention until I accidentally touch the lotion which feels suspiciously like face scrub. Keith looks at the bottle again and sees that it’s labeled “Body Cleanser.”

The poor man has no way of knowing how to decipher female lotion and potion lingo. My legs start to burn, only this time from the cleanser. I quickly shower and return for round 2.

He balks when I suggest Bag Balm. Bag Balm is used on cow’s udders but also works great for diaper rashes and dry hands. He generously slathers my hind quarters and I sigh in relief. I can only lie on my front or side but it feels better. Keith complains that I stink.

My back side is very soft today. The sunburn is less painful. I move slowly and wear loose clothing. Hopefully Bag Balm washes out of our sheets.  I will never go to the beach without using sunscreen again.

If you see me moving slowly and notice that parts of my body are pink and I smell like a cow, you’ll know why.

P.S. Keith - When a woman’s in pain, she shouldn't have to worry about her husband having fun at her expense. You’d better sleep lightly if you don’t delete the I-phone picture of my burned Bag-Balmed backside you took last night.