In life, we learn lessons. We learn things that we should not do in hopes that when the same situation arises again, we may take different actions. However, there are instances when we revert back or "devolve" from highly intelligent homo sapiens to some, well, slightly less intelligent, like an amoeba.
Boys and Girls, my lesson today is on the importance of sunscreen. "But, Caitlin!" you say, "It's halfway through June! You should know better!"
My problems lie rooted in a delightfully burn-free childhood, courtesy of the Evans' side of the family and the propensity of early European settlers, i.e. trappers, to take Native American women as their wives. Alas, this burn-free phase was not to last, and with the wonderful onset of puberty, I became much less inclined to tan, and much more inclined to burn.
To be fair, I already was out in full sun twice this year with nary a red streak, and two summers ago spent six weeks in Cuernavaca, Mexico (including a four-day stint at a beach resort) completely avoiding burning my delicate skin. But my shoulders were clearly not ready to withstand the torment of two hours of weeding a neighbor's yard this afternoon.
And then, of course, I went to the gym. At this point, I did not realize I had a sun burn. Sweat on a burn is one thing that lets you know it's there for sure. After the gym, I did the smart thing and went to a Vinyasa Yoga class (the smart thing was the Giant pit stop in between for some aloe vera).
Let me tell you, today I feel the burn, literally, metaphorically, internally, and externally.
I might need to soothe myself with some pistachio gelato.
Peace and love from the lady with lobster shoulders.
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