Dear Dr. Derm, forgive me for what I’m about to say.
So, yeah, “tan me” is way hotter than “pasty-and-pale me.” (And by way hotter, I’m not intimating that I’m incredibly good-looking—or even a little good-looking—it’s about that little bit of bronze that balances out my sometimes ruddy skin, makes my hair look blonder without the $250 highlighting bill and let’s me walk out of the house with some Aquaphor on as lip gloss and nothing else). But, since tanning is universally known to cause bad stuff (hi, cancer), I refrain and instead hit the bottle.
Either way you go, the bottle tan or the UV-ray real thing, getting bronzed often produces the most brutal (and totally hilar) stories. To wit…
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