Forgive me Father for I have sunned


Ow. My sunburn hurts. Still. I’m greased up with enough of the Norwegian Fisherman’s friend that when I went to give blood today they were afraid needle couldn’t get purchase, so we decide that I would come back later, when I’m peeling.

My clothes are all against me. Everything I own has scratchy, hard things hidden inside that I hadn’t noticed before. I stand in front of my closet and look for things that look like they wouldn’t hurt. Looks can be deceiving. And two minutes later, irritating.

It’s not like I use starch or that anything I own has seen the business end of an Iron in ages, so in theory, everything should be sunburn safe. No, not really. Clothes have evil little travelers that ride with them. Seams are so nothing most of the time. Invisible, even. Not . Any. More. Tags are warped, evil, nasty little buggers and they are torturous to the sunburned. I think they should be counted against the manufacturer. If you ever wondered what they make tags out of, the things seem to be constructed of rose thorns and broken glass stitched together with fishing line and barbed wire.

Everything I own is a prospective weapon. I would try to wear my nightgown to work but there was just a lecture about just that piece of clothing and how we are not to wear it to work. We are also not supposed to wear slippers. Fascists.

So now I stand in front of my closet and eye my all ready limited wardrobe and have to make decisions . Am I so tired of that top that I can’t face it again or could I face it knowing that it is with out hateful tag and prominent seams . Or what about this one? True I have worn it a lot. And it is very tired, but it is almost the same fabric as my nightgown and it is not a nightgown so I could wear it but I did just wear it and possibly, sweat in it, so that maybe out of the running. I have about a thousand different vests, but the vests go best with my white blouses, all of which are full of sunburn traps and stiffness and other sharp things. Like buttons and collars – so those are out.

I have a number of reasonably nice tee shirts, but they are not really all that sunburn friendly themselves or I couldn’t wear them to work. I could in theory wear a dress, but spending the day explaining why I wore a dress, is less then thrilling. “No, I’m not going to court, No I don’t have a date, No, I did not run out of clean clothes!

I’m about to die of sunburn and so far the only comment I have received about my reddish new look is someone asking if I started to wear more make up. I mean, do we apply blush to our ears or our necks I mean if we do, I have been left out for years.

I also have no love for being snuck up behind and grabbed while the grabber is cackling about people too stupid to wear sunscreen at the beach ( these people being nurses, who I assumed Were covered by that First Do No Harm idea which should have precluded them from sunburn grabbing), but. I was wearing sunscreen, thank you very much. It failed me. Or it wanted me to put more on and I didn’t. Or something.

Another everyday thing that now is a sunburn irritant. Sheets and towels. They also seem like such, nice, friendly objects. Sheets are mean and they irate the sunburn on purpose. I can’t just go to the sheet closet and pick out a less violent sheet, because all my sheets are the same. Sheets. I finally get to bed, I suffer the get into bed sunburn related pain. After some considerable discomfort I find a comfortable position. Heaven. I fall asleep, I change positions in my sleep, DAMN. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. All Damn night. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

My towels could be used to wring confessions out of criminals. Ow.