Love is (Color)blind

With a college reunion – not to mention a wedding – coming up, sometimes a girl has got to do some spring grooming. I took it upon myself to do everything at once, kind of an “instant makeover”; I self-tanned, I got my eyebrows threaded, I painted my finger- and toenails.

This all took place over the course of an evening while Jeff was out with a friend. When he got home I showed him my fingers and toes, painstakingly transformed to a pinky-lavender shade, but neglected to share my other beauty endeavors, preferring to let him think that I was suddenly, naturally bronzed and hair-free. In the kitchen, under bright and unforgiving lights, Jeff stared at my face.

“Did you … self tan?” he asked. Fuck! My cover was blown!

“Yes,” I admitted.

“You look ….” Jeff’s eyes glanced from my forehead to my chin to my clavicle. Glowing? I thought. Gorgeous? Tropical? Sun-kissed? “Orange.” He said.

“I just wanted to look tan,” I pouted.

“Well, that’s what sun is for.”

“But sun gives you cancer.”

“I bet those chemicals give it to you faster. What’s in them?”

“Uh …. Bronze?”

I don’t think I have to tell you that the words tard sale were once again invoked.

Love is (Color)blind