A burn to remember

I need to learn the importance of sunblock. Wait, scratch that, I need to remember the lessons I've already learned about the importance of sunblock. I've been lucky when it comes to burns, mostly because I don't spend loads of times hanging out in the rays. It's not because I am scared of how harmful they are, it's just that I prefer to stay cool indoors. There have been a few exceptions the past couple of years.

Saturday found me at some friends' wedding, held outdoors at the provincial museum. The weather was warm and sunny. The girls all mocked the guys, since they were stuck in suits and tuxes, and we had the pleasure of wearing sweet summer dresses that allowed us a bit more comfort. An hour later, while grabbing a quick bite at a nearby restaurant, I caught a glance of myself in the restroom mirror. Oh dear. I was burned. Or rather parts of me were burned. My shoulders and my back were bright red, already, but it was a little lower down that I was more concerned with. My dress had a low v in the front and my poor chest was quite close to burgandy in colour. I should have known better. This wasn't the first time.

A couple of years ago, a couple of friends and I went to Greece and on our first island stop, we headed out for a day of sightseeing. I was wearing a halter style bikini top, with a fair amount of skin exposed, so I lathered up in sunscreen, but didn't reapply during the day. When we got back to our hotel, I took a shower and was shocked when I looked at myself in the mirror. I was burned, but what was worse, was that I had a slightly smeared hand print on the front of my chest. I looked liked I had been mauled by an over eager date. I must have had extra sunscreen on my hand and just rubbed it across the front of my body, leaving the rest unprotected. My roomies and I took pics and the rest of the tour group relished in passing my camera around and laughing for the rest of the trip. Good times.

When I called my friend on Sunday, to tell her of my wedding adventures (the same one that took the pic in Mykonos) she began to laugh. When I asked her what was so funny about burnt boobs, she said that the only reason why I came off so unscathed on the trip was that after I would fall asleep on the beach (which was inevitable due to being completely exhausted from walking, drinking a little bit too much and not sleeping) she would come over and cover me with sunscreen. I never woke up. Didn't even move, from what I was told. How scary is that? Complete strangers could have been robbing me or worse... they could have been selling tickets to touch the Canadian girl, and I would have never known it. I wouldn't have even gotten a cut.

So, now I am sporting yet another red chest, and it's noticable. Really noticable. Even our Purolator delivery guy pointed it out this morning at work. And what's worse is that the type of bra/dress I was wearing (bringing the girls closer together, so to speak) which created outstanding cleavage, also created an outstanding farmers tan/burn, so that I have a glaring white patch inbetween the bold red. Can you say "Sexy"?