Conversation with my mom

When I got back from Gran Canaria (yeah, I go there) my mom called to get the full report on how it was. We chatted for a bit and she laughed really hard when I talked about the ghetto hotel and the topless ladies and just how much personal maintenance I would have to undergo before I could even think about appearing on the beach nearly nekkid like that. (She did suggest, however, that I not share those details with the Internet. A smart one, my mom.)

You should know, here, that both my parents grew up in Virginia next to the beach and are absolute sun-worshippers. My mother was smart and responsible and put loads of sunscreen on us when we were kids, though. Living in Alaska (a dark, barren wasteland where even vampires start to miss the sun) has just increased their devotion to sweet sweet sunlight and its burning rays of love.

Mom: (eagerly) So, are you all tanned now?

Me: No, not really.

Mom: What? But you were there for a week!

Me: Yeah, but I used a lot of sunscreen.

Mom: [Nemesis]!

She said this in exactly the same tone she would have used had I suddenly dropped the f-bomb.

Me: What! I didn't want to burn!

Mom: Do you burn?

Me: Uh, yeah. A lot. I just burn and get freckles, and that's pretty much it.

Mom: Oh . . . that's right, I guess your sister gets freckles like that too, but I didn't realize you did.

Me: Yep. That's why I'm so white and am in the #2 highest risk category for skin cancer.

Mom: Wow, I had no idea . . . gosh. Well, at least you have other qualities. You might still get married someday.

Then she laughed herself silly, on account of she's funny.

We then determined that even though I do not tan, I am smart. And you can fake a tan but you can't fake smart. Or something.

Posted in: England