Yesterday I had a conversation with my mother. I know, big news. Yesterday, I had a conversation with my mother about how long it takes to get rid of the San Francisco suntan. For this (and for anyone who has never graced the vaunted streets on the tip of the peninsula), this will need some context: apart from the rest of california -- what with it's sun-drenched vistas, playas, etc., san francisco is a city that was kidnapped by fog at some point. The sun is non-existent for save maybe three hours a day, and even when it is visible, it's typically wrapped around such a chilly day that carrying around a jacket is probably a very good idea. Shorts are not an option, and layers upon layers are what typically provide the SPF one would need throughout the day.
Well, I'm no longer in that. I'm back east, walking around, and lo and behold my legs are doubling as traffic reflectors. I've gotten by with wearing jeans as much as I can so as not to be a public or traffic menace, but frankly they're hot and feel ungainly inappropriate for the weather. Cue the conversation with my mother, a 33-year SF veteran before moving who also has twice the Latin blood I do:
Female Parent: So have you started getting any sun yet?
Me: No way, Ma. I'm still trying to get that skin tone that I lost in Frisco.
F: [laughs] It took me about three years, you know. Three years of looking sickly and no skintone before I started getting some color.
Well, at least the feeling's mutual, but now I have to wonder if it's something to even attempt to remedy, or should I just go back to the pale? This is a false problem, really, but kind of funny that the two of us went through it.
The Coffee-fueled blog: now solar-powered.
