The Mild Wife is very, very good about wearing sunscreen. She's almost religious about it, making sure to apply the stuff whenever we head out. It doesn't matter whether it's sunny as all hell or it looks like a dreary morning. She will still apply sunscreen. It's good for you, so it makes sense (side note: I recently heard that Baz Luhrmann "sunscreen song" again, and it really resonated with me as 30-plus-year-old).
She also reminds me to wear sunscreen myself, because if it's good for the goose, it's good for the gander. I mean, I get it. It's not like I want to get sunburned or to get melanoma. In fact, I usually try to avoid damage from the sun, even if I occasionally fail and end up with really weird tans (see exhibit A and exhibit B). The problem, however, is that I just haven't done it often enough where I've made it a habit. I do so haphazardly, and the results are understandably erratic.
So, you can imagine the fun when the Mild Wife and I decided to head to the beach for a day.
In my defense, I remembered to apply sunscreen before the Mild Wife said anything. I may occasionally forget, but the association of the beach to sunscreen is a pretty strong one. As soon as I thought about it, I figured I should protect myself from the sun's rays. I made sure to apply it to my face, my arms, and my legs, because I really didn't want to end up with burnt calves. Heck, I even got the tops of my feet because I figured that I was going to be wearing flip-flops of some sort.
We headed down to the beach, and had a great day. We brought snacks, laid out for a while, and just generally lazed about. I also brought a book I really enjoyed ("American Gods" by Neil Gaiman, in case you're curious), and read cross-legged for a while. Like I said, it was a good day.
However, Mother Nature is subtle and relentless. She will humble you, and show you the fallacy of your hubris. When we got home, I discovered exactly where I had failed: my knees. To be specific, I had not applied enough sunscreen to the insides of my knees. Yes, the insides of my knees. Go back and read the previous paragraph, and you will see exactly why this was a problem: I read cross-legged for a while. The sides of my knees were facing up for a non-trivial amount of time, and were therefore exposed to the sun. For all that I'd prepared and tried to ward off the sun, I missed a spot and the sun found the chink in my armor.
I'm sure there's also a lesson about reapplying sunscreen in that whole story, but all I'm really going to remember is not to taunt the sun. It's a formidable foe, and so far, I've lost one battle with it. You better believe I'm going to apply a healthy amount of sunscreen to the insides of my knees next time.
She also reminds me to wear sunscreen myself, because if it's good for the goose, it's good for the gander. I mean, I get it. It's not like I want to get sunburned or to get melanoma. In fact, I usually try to avoid damage from the sun, even if I occasionally fail and end up with really weird tans (see exhibit A and exhibit B). The problem, however, is that I just haven't done it often enough where I've made it a habit. I do so haphazardly, and the results are understandably erratic.
So, you can imagine the fun when the Mild Wife and I decided to head to the beach for a day.
In my defense, I remembered to apply sunscreen before the Mild Wife said anything. I may occasionally forget, but the association of the beach to sunscreen is a pretty strong one. As soon as I thought about it, I figured I should protect myself from the sun's rays. I made sure to apply it to my face, my arms, and my legs, because I really didn't want to end up with burnt calves. Heck, I even got the tops of my feet because I figured that I was going to be wearing flip-flops of some sort.
We headed down to the beach, and had a great day. We brought snacks, laid out for a while, and just generally lazed about. I also brought a book I really enjoyed ("American Gods" by Neil Gaiman, in case you're curious), and read cross-legged for a while. Like I said, it was a good day.
However, Mother Nature is subtle and relentless. She will humble you, and show you the fallacy of your hubris. When we got home, I discovered exactly where I had failed: my knees. To be specific, I had not applied enough sunscreen to the insides of my knees. Yes, the insides of my knees. Go back and read the previous paragraph, and you will see exactly why this was a problem: I read cross-legged for a while. The sides of my knees were facing up for a non-trivial amount of time, and were therefore exposed to the sun. For all that I'd prepared and tried to ward off the sun, I missed a spot and the sun found the chink in my armor.
I'm sure there's also a lesson about reapplying sunscreen in that whole story, but all I'm really going to remember is not to taunt the sun. It's a formidable foe, and so far, I've lost one battle with it. You better believe I'm going to apply a healthy amount of sunscreen to the insides of my knees next time.
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