Dear Spray-On Sunscreen,
Can you believe it? Summer has finally arrived! Just in time for Memorial Day weekend, the temps reached the 80s, the sun was shining bright and full, and I spent the daylight hours worshipping in its glory. Because I am serious about protecting my precious skin from harmful UV rays, I hit the drugstore to stock up on sunscreen with SPF 30; for my face, I selected a cream variety, and for my body, I chose you, Spray-On Sunscreen. At first it was a wonderful affair! As I would be doing my sun-worshipping alone, I knew I could count on you to cover all those hard-to-reach places — my back, for example, which has a few moles that need extra attention. And you did such a good job! The weekend concluded with not even the slightest bit of sunburn anywhere. Hooray!
Unfortunately, Spray-On Sunscreen, I cannot get rid of you. You refuse to come off. You dried in a thin, clear layer on my skin, akin to one of those cucumber facial masks that are so fun to peel off. After going in the ocean on Saturday, I dried my body and little balls of your protective residue stuck like lint to my skin.
Surely you would be no match for a hot shower. I scrubbed at my skin with body wash and a loofah, exfoliating like I’ve never exfoliated before. While shaving my legs, your gumminess clogged my razor. And yet, after all that, you remained! While drying my body with a towel following my shower, I was surprised to your little glue-like residue balls still adhering to my skin. I turned the water on for a second round, rubbing my skin raw. It was like that scene in “Silkwood,” when Meryl Streep has to be scrubbed down with wire brushes because she may have been contaminated at the nuclear power plant.
I think you are gone now. Mostly, anyway. I appreciate how committed you are to keeping my precious skin cancer-free, but your clinginess is, well, a little psycho. For that reason, Spray-On Sunscreen, our brief affair must end.