The Thin Tan Line

There is something strange happening to my body.  It's very similar to the experiences of Spiderman, though sadly it has nothing to do with the horribly disfiguring bug bite from the other day.  I think, if memory serves, it is that phenomenon called...a tan.

My body hasn't seen sunlight in 15 years.  And I have been to the Caribbean.  Twice.  It just seems that wherever I was, even if it was on vacation, there wasn't the opportunity for tans.  And, yes, I understand that this is a good thing.  I even came to recognize it as a status symbol.  People in Chicago rarely bare their bodies anyway (unless, of course, you are a Bleacher Bum and own a sequined Cubs bikini--I wish I were joking) and on those rare occasions when the humidity forces you to do so, the more you glow with pale, the cooler you are.  Seriously, Chicagoans could take on the Cullens when it comes to pale and sparkly (too pop culture?).  And we're proud of it.  Because everyone around us is in the same boat.

So the other day I took a look at my arm.  There was a strange mark on my wrist.  Next to the mosquito bites (no, I'm not over this bug thing yet).  It was a strange white stripe right where my watch usually goes...oh, right!  Suntan.  Huh.  I seriously douse myself in sunscreen.  And my poor kid wanders around town with his hair matted to his pale little head after receiving treatment after treatment of the stuff.  But these days we are outside all of the time.  And, as a result, suntan. 

It's a very strange feeling.  Part of me wants to be that girl of 13 (before all of the skin cancer studies) who would literally make herself crispy on vacation, just to show off when she returned to the snow.  Part of me wants to buy a burqa.  I've never been outdoorsy in a time of sun avoidance.  How does one do it?  And when I return to Chicago, will I be mocked?  Or randomly stopped by cops (low blow--sorry, CPD)?  How does one walk the tan line?