I was listening to the radio in the car on the way home the other day (which is weird because I almost never do this because 97% of what is played on the radio is horrible, ear-piercing crap. But I needed to hear the traffic, so what are you gonna do, eh?), and I heard a commercial for a local tanning salon.
It went something like: "Give someone special the perfect stocking stuffer this year! Give them a gift card to Get-Orange-Real-Fast Tan!"
PERFECT! Just what I always wanted! Cancer! How did you know that I wanted cancer for Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Festivus?! It's perfect! Thank you!
I mean, really.
Since when did peeling skin, wrinkles, age spots, a distinctly fake even color, and cancer become a great gift?
I work with a girl who tans. I told her I'm too freaked out about the health implications to tan anymore. She said, "Well, we're all going to die some day, I want to go with a tan."
I really hate this smartass comment when I tell people that I don't tan because my grandfather died of melanoma. And I'm mole-y, like him. And my dad has had some suspect moles removed, too.
So I shot back, "Yeah, well. My grandfather died of melanoma. It's a pretty fucking miserable way to go. It's painful, and really, not a lot of fun. I'd like to be around for my daughter as long as possible. Besides, I don't want to look like I'm 40 when I'm 30 like the rest of the obsessive tanners I know."
Boo.fucking.yah.
Wear your sunscreen, people, because cancer is NOT sexy.
