"Honey...are you sick?"
This was once asked to me by the mother of one of my boyfriends. We were sitting outside and I was in shorts, my chalky, white legs exposed for all the world to see.
I didn't want to embarrass my boyfriend's mom, but I couldn't lie, either. So I just said what I always say when somebody asks me if I'm sick.
"No, I'm just really pale."
She quickly stuttered an awkward apology, but I didn't mind. I mean, I AM pale.
You know how girls like to have fat friends so when they are compared side by side, they look thinner? Well, my friends like to stand next to me so they look like some kind of goddamn Malibu Barbie. Bitches!
If an albino and a piece of chalk had a daughter, it would be me. Under florescent lighting, I'm so white I'm blue. I have enough bronzer in my bathroom to fill a dumpster.
There are some advantages to being this pale- like, I use it as an excuse to get out of outdoor activities.
"Sorry, I really can't go on a hike/bike/run- you know, my skin." My dermatologist adores me- he calls me an 'alabaster miracle'- not kidding. It's flattering but a little weird. My husband says I remind him of a Nicole Kidman or Kate Blanchett (minus the looks, money or fame)- but I think that's a lie. (He's married to me, so he has to say stuff like that.)
Ideally, I would have been born in England in 1432. That's when being pale was the hip thing to do- it separated you from the super-tan farmers and made you look rich. People would powder their faces to look just like I look naturally. Damn you, 21st century!
There's really nothing I can do about it, except apply sunscreen every day of my waking life and smear on enough bronzer to make me look like I am a living, breathing human being as opposed to a walking corpse. Oh, and if you see me out and about? Please feel free to stand next to me- you'll look like Malibu Barbie.
Quarter Life Whatever
3 years ago