Thursday, February 16, 2012

This time I really GG

I can feel the heat coming from under my skin.... you know when you grossly sun burn yourself so badly, you can feel like you are wearing a thermal pack instead of your birthday suit.

I am puzzled how come I would forget to wear sun block. This coming from the one person who is so paranoid about melanoma that she even wears waterproof sunblock (SPF50) into the swimming pool. WTF, *censored*, seriously how dumb can you get?

It really didn't pop into my brain. I think I must be so damn elated to be able to run out of work, that I just happily pushed all my meetings to Friday and covered all my responsibilities for today. Work kept calling throughout the day, even while I was trying to sleep off my heatstroke-induced exhaustion on the bus. I supposed I should be happy that this means I am needed and have a job.

I got so high from the heatstroke that I didn't even know I was swigging water from someone's leftover bottle (same table). I am still in a somewhat high mood now. Fuck. I should be glad at least that the burn is limited to my neck and face and not the back of my neck and legs. The back of my neck was spared because of my hair which I wore down today, and my legs because I was wearing pants for once.
WTF. Seriously. 2 of them, and I didn't bring any. Esp after I ran back to the old house some more...
Usually I don't wear pants, preferring dresses or skirts. However I was taught a very bad lesson on the error of my ways, i.e. not wearing pants when visiting Military Bases, when I was 12. My cousins and I went to a Naval Base opening. I was wearing my favorite denim skirt, ah the poor thing, which was very short. Anyway back then even though I was already in a convent school, that convent school didn't really inculcate the "wear shorts under your skirt at all times" culture in me yet. 

So everything was ok, except when I tried to climb down the stairs off the side of a warship... my skirt was caught on the stairs, and I wasn't aware. C (my older cousin, remember her) went down first, and a cute Naval guy was helping me, with an older man waiting after me. So when I went down the second rung (much further), I distinctly heard the always-dreaded "spizzzt". The bloody skirt tore upwards my right seam, until it reached my skirt. I was SO MORTIFIED.

Bewildered I looked up. The Naval guy was slack-jawed, while the uncle was staring hard at the tiny bit of white that was peeping through the torn cloth. Bloody uncle. My aunt came from behind and shoved the uncle. Nice save. And she told me to climb up, then she unhinged my skirt from the stair and I had to climb down again, red-faced...

Don't worry I didn't go home half-naked. C came to the rescue, much to her OCD disgust. She apparently came from a convent school, which inculcated the "wear shorts under your skirt at all times" culture in her so well she was wearing PE shorts under her jeans. Gott sei dank. Aunt made her take it off and pass it to an equally disgusted but grateful me.

B1 is happily singing along with my "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" (Kelly Clarkson) which is blasting from my speakers now. Ass. He is truly enjoying my sunburn.

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