Sometimes I find it so embarrassing to admit that I’m English.
Still, there’s always the World Cup.
I don’t tend to tan. Oh, I might go bright red. But rarely do I seem to change colour quite as dramatically as some people. I inherited The Father’s pale skin, and now I also have to remember that he suffered, albeit briefly and non-threateningly, from skin cancer.
We must be so very thankful that the sun makes me run a mile [as well as giving me ridiculously bad headaches].
It amuses me then, to see that I have brown arms. How do I know? I have a white mark where my watch lives.
Of course, stick me next to Ms. Tan-A-Lot and I’ll still be little more than a whiter shade of pale.
I do intend to spend much of my summer [when I’m not painting] sitting in my garden playing on my new toy [that I shall get for my birthday] and listening to my iPod [it’s not even worth mentioning the pink-mini bit, considering it’s SO out of date now … tsk] and hoping that I develop some sort of colour, so that come October I don’t look all pasty-faced in wedding pictures. Heavens, can you imagine anything worse!
I’m more than willing to place money on it raining for most of the summer now …
please God bless me tomorrow as I wilt through boredom and get big headaches because of paint fumes at work xxx Elsabeth