By Veeda Ware
Something incredible happened to me these past few months. If I was to revert back to junior high and fill two pages of a double typed discourse on 'What Did You Do This Summer,' the answer would be: I discovered that I am not invincible.
Now, I realize that there are certain things I cannot do. Like swing dance, or throw a 50-yard pass. To be brutally honest, I''ll admit I can barely clear five. But these diminutive details measure minor in my significance list.
So I''m tall and not very coordinated. Yes, I''m a down right waste of height. If you ever run into me, please don''t ask why I don''t play basketball. See me on the court, and you''ll get your answer. I''m the one warming the bench.
I will never swim the butterfly at the Olympics. Or sprint along the best. But if there were ever a Thumb War Wrestling event, I would win hands down. I''ve never lost a game in my life, thank-you-very-much. Maybe I don''t have 10 talents, but I feel that I have done well increasing my five.
This is why I was completely floored when I experienced something that shouldn''t be humanly feasible in my book. I received my first ever sunburn.
I thought after 23 years of being exposed to the ultra-violet rays warming the earth, I would know my Fun-In-the-Sun capacity. When I was younger and five feet shorter, other kids would paint themselves with sun block at the pool. I gloated in the fact that the sun never got me, and I had to only arm myself with two plastic green floaties to keep safe. When I took them off last year, I felt it was a major accomplishment.
The sunburn empathy has never been mine to share with those who groan about aching skin blistering a perky pink. I have never understood the pain of no sunscreen regret. After someone would complain of the discomfort his or her cooked flesh had, I would show my sympathy with an embracing bear hug. Nice and tight.
I''ve never burned, up until now that is. I grow increasingly darker with exposure to the sun, but I never turn red. I prided myself in this super-human skill, like my brown skin was my indestructible shield that I was blessed with
Maybe pride was the kryptonite that brought my mighty morphine powers down. This summer while at Lake Tahoe, I too, fell from the sky and became victim to the villainous sun.
After a day on the boat, I developed an unusual sensation on my back. At first I thought I was just sore from horseback riding, but it was the strangest muscle ache I have ever encountered. When I tried rubbing it away, it hurt more. It was a consistent throbbing impression that made its home in the back of my mind. Ever so faint, but incessant enough to cause me discomfort. Why didn''t anyone tell me SPF stood for Sunburns Peel Fast?
It was in the plane ride home when I realized the truth. As I sat uncomfortably in the middle seat, wedged in between two non-talkative people, a startling thought crossed my horizon. This is no sore muscle. I think I have sunburn.
It was as the heavens opened, and I could hear the hallelujah chorus in my mind. Angels from above plucked on their harps the Smiths, 'I am human and I need to be loved,' as I descended among mortals.
I wanted to violently shake the person next to me and let them in on my self-discovery. 'I have a sun burn! I know what it feels like!' When I quickly looked over at the man quietly staring out the window, I quickly realized that 1) He probably didn''t care, and 2) why was I so excited? This means I no longer have super-being powers. I can feel, just like everybody else does.
The plane might as well have crashed right then and there, because my ego sure did. I still have no idea why the weather in Tahoe made me more burn worthy. I managed to survive my whole life, not to mention a year in a half in the bright Hawaiian sun without anything more than a missionary tan.
I would like to say I learned a lesson from all of this. I have been sufficiently humbled, and now I will become a spokeswoman for sunscreen worldwide.
Of course I do not feel this way. Coppertone can find some other role model. I''m still bitter at our ozone layer, cursed sun. I will find some way to get my super-status back. Just you wait. Thumb war anyone?