Growing up in Southern California was a lot of fun, for many reasons, and one of them was because we got to go to the beach. We lived about an hour away so it wasn't as often as I would have liked, but my fair skin and dermatologist are probably grateful that it was at least that one hour drive away.
Summers always meant tan lines too. After a weekend in the sun we would pull our shirt top over at the shoulder to show our girlfriends how defined our strap marks were. Or hold our arms next to each other to see whose tan was darker. (I would rarely win that one, but that does remind me of a funny story ... A girlfriend told me that she asked one of her friends the following question: If everything on our bodies has a purpose for being there, what is the purpose of arm hair? To which her friend frankly replied, Don't you know, silly? It's so that in the summertime your hair can turn blonde and look really great against your tan arms!)
Well, sadly, long gone are the days of swim suits and leisurely days at the beach for this old gal! I used to get at least a farmer's tan from yard work, but even that is now hard to come by. I don't have the time to spend hours in my yard anymore and for some reason, my legs have taken a haitus from any other shade but stark white. However ... my feet, for some odd reason, are hanging on to the good old days and still like to garnish a little color. I mow my yard in my flip flops (I had to give up calling them thongs because it horrifed my children when I did), so my tan lines of today are on my feet.
I can remember standing on the stage at a church function when I was around 20. A boy came up to the stage so his head was pretty close to being at my feet level. He brushed his hand across my feet and looked at me strangely. He said, "I wondered if you were wearing nylons with your sandals. Your feet are so tan." And that still makes me a little happy.
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