A few weeks ago, I went to get a spray tan. I’m fair-skinned and don’t have a ton of time to lay out. I also don’t use tanning beds. I prefer my face not have excessive crows feet, wrinkles, age spots, or look like worn leather by the time I’m 30 from spending too much time in the sun or tanning bed. I also am attempting to prevent skin cancer….So I spray tan.
Sometimes, especially if I’m tired, I hear what people are saying, but I don’t fully listen. It’s a bad fault, but true. I hear them and it registers, but whatever they are saying doesn’t always process within my little big brain and I just miss details. On this particular day, I missed a big detail. The girl put the little stick-on-feet stickers on the bottom of my feet and told me to keep my feet on them the entire time so that I didn’t have spray tan solution all over the bottom of my feet at the end of the spray session. I smiled and said, “ok” and she continued telling me a few more details about the tan.
After she finished spraying me, she left the room so the tan could dry. I immediately took the little feet stickers off as soon as she left the room and threw them in the trash. Then, I walked around the room (all over the floor that was apparently covered in spray tan solution) as I finished drying, changed clothes and left the room. I left the tanning salon and decided I would stop by Jill’s work, which was just down the road, for a few minutes to see her and our friend, Heather. I stayed and visited with them for a while. Heather left first and then I walked out to my car. Jill walked with me so we could finish our conversation. As I got into my car and Jill looked at me a little funny and said, “Show me the bottom of your feet.” I pulled my flip-flop off confidently not really knowing what her sudden interest was with the bottom of my feet, and then I saw her face. It was a face of disgust and embarrassment. She rolled her eyes and said, “I knew it.”
I quickly looked down at my feet to make sure they were, in fact, still attached to my ankles. I couldn’t figure out why else she would look so stunned. Sure enough, I turned my foot over and the bottom of my foot was covered in spray tan solution. Covered. Like you could not see any flesh coloring at all. I can best describe them as a lovely orange, brown paint. They seriously looked like they could not possibly be part of my body. I just stared at them in shock. Really, it was more like horror. How in the world was I going to get this off my foot? Then, the voice of Jennifer Lopez, from The Wedding Planner popped into my head and said, "A quarter cup of lemon juice, half a cup of salt and a loofah sponge. Scrub scrub scrub." You all remember that part, right? I thought about it for a moment and then realized JLo’s little remedy wouldn’t touch this mishap.
I got in the car and headed home. I tried washing them off as soon as I got home, but I couldn’t really scrub them since I had just been sprayed and didn’t want the spray tan to come off the top of my feet. I decided that maybe it would come off within a month. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I thought it would take at least a month. It was nuts and it was gross. So gross that I couldn’t bring myself to take a picture. I showed Josh and he was mortified. Truly mortified. He was also very concerned for our white bedding. He was sure one night of me sleeping in our bed would ruin the sheets for good.
A little later that night, I was lying on our bed and Brody walked in to bring a toy for us to play with together. My feet were out of the covers and were facing the door, so he couldn’t miss them when he walked in to our room. He was in mid-sentence when he walked-in and immediately stopped talking. His eyes got very big. He slowly moved towards the foot of our bed and his sweet little face grimaced when he looked closely at my feet. Then, in his precious little two year old voice, he said, “Mommy, did your feet catch on fire and burn?!”
Bless his sweet heart. I am sure that’s what they looked like to him. It honestly looked like I walked across hot coals. I giggled a little inside and quickly assured him my feet were just fine. {I was also trying to convince myself they would be just fine.} I told him that I had gotten some tanning paint on my feet and that they would look normal one day...hopefully, one day soon. That answer seemed sufficient for him at the moment, so we continued with our plan to play and read.
And 2 weeks later, my feet were finally back to their flesh-colored normal selves. I learned an invaluable lesson about paying attention to details and about stick-on-feet.
I’m going to get another spray tan in a couple of days and I’m considering wearing socks. :)
