I Burn for You

First sunburn of the season. Already achieved.

Ouch.

Dammit.

Took Will, my two nieces and my mother to the beach the other day. The girls are in town for their annual "week with Nana and Poobie." (Poobie is what the grandkids call my dad. Back in the day, the Flintstones was my brother's favorite tv show. You may recall that Fred and Barney belonged to the Loyal Order of Water Buffalo; the fearless leader of that auspicious group was called the Grand Imperial Poobah. So we started calling my dad Poobah. Over time, that got shortened to Poobie. And there you have it.)

It was a great beach day -- nice breeze, clear skies, not too crowded. Surf was a little choppy, so we didn't venture too far out. Will was very content to sit at the edge of the water and let the waves "cwash" into him. He got the giggles and every time one would approach, he'd just howl with laughter. Delightful. I sat with him, since he's a bit tentative and not totally steady on his feet all the time. And wouldn't you know it -- my back was to Mr. Sun and absorbed up all his lovely rays. Since in my quest to make sure Will was covered from head to toe and every place in between with sunscreen, I neglected to really cover my back.

Ouch.

Wearing a bra is a bit painful -- figures that my bathing suit straps don't match the location of my bra straps. You'd think I'd know better, being a Florida native and all and a huge nag to other people about using sunscreen. But no. I obviously don't. So I'm slathering on the aloe and cocoa butter lotion and whatever else I can get my hands on.

I just don't want to peel. At least not this early in the season.

Ouch.