A River Runs Through It

So, those of you residing in the UK, may have notice that the rain finally stopped and kind of overnight we went from 'thermal vest and potentially ear muffs' to 't-shirts and flip flops' weather.  

For those, like me, originating from very northerly climes, this may have come upon you rather rapidly in terms of revealing flesh - the colour of which is naturally a couple of shades cooler than skimmed milk and you 'may' have been tempted to enlist the help of chemicals in order to stop yourself turning any onlookers snow blind.  If so let this be a cautionary tale.... (though perhaps not quite as cautionary as the one where I burnt most of my muff and denuded a shag pile carpet with that dubious hair removing foam). 

As a teenager the tone of my skin caused me immense grief. I remember temping in a factory where they christened me Snow White and wouldn't call me anything else.  Friends would mercilessly taunt my near transparent nature.  One fateful day I found a bottle of fake tan in the back of my mum's bathroom cabinet (the same bathroom cabinet that still holds 'miniature soaps and shower caps collected from the World's Holiday Inns, 1980 - 1994 inclusive'.  It's like a shrine to the Glory Years of International Business Travel).  

My heart pumped hard, surely this miracle product was my new holy grail? SAVED FROM FOREVER LOOKING LIKE I'D DIED A WEEK PREVIOUSLY! Baywatch here we come....

Now what we need to bear in mind here is that this must have been one of the first ever fake tans.  People complain now that they smell and look orange.... FOLKS! You ain't seen NOTHING.  In a covert 'using things that don't belong to me' operation I covered my legs in it and quite rapidly smelt like a properly rotten egg and my legs developed intensely bright orange stripes - think the tone of Iron Bru.  

Busted.  

I was forced to spend a very hot period of my teenage summer in black woolly tights and pass it off as a flirtation with Goth-lite.  

But, luckily, times have changed and there are now much better fake tans and for ultra-pale people those moisturisers with a HINT of fake tan. You know, to take the blinding reflective qualities of your skin down a notch.  

And thus it was I purchased Superdrug's So Soft body lotion with a hint, note HINT, of self tanner.   I slapped it all over and went to sleep...... By the morning? Well by the morning the Cuprinol Man Cometh.  

This is by FAR the most full on and orange fake tan I've experienced since stealing my mum's prototype job.  

And a WEEK LATER - I still had huge dark orange patches.  

Hint? HINT? Hint of tanner my flaming arse. I would recommend this product to NOBODY.  Unless Oompaloompa Orange really gets you off.  

So by Thursday night I was getting really quite peed off about this situation, a week looking like you tried and failed to join the cast of TOWIE is not my desired look, and decided it was kill or cure so covered my whole body in what ever other fake tan products were lying around.  The idea was I'd go to bed, and wake up probably looking like a sepia patchwork quilt but at least I'd done 'something'. 

So products went on.  I lay down naked and started drifting off to sleep.... I heard a wail.  

Hmmm. 

Youngest child was muttering and sobbing. 

'Wee wee?' I asked, standing him over in a zombie-like naked pose (not wanting to chaff off the tan you see). No doubt such memories will come out in some kind of regressional therapy at a later date but, all the same, he sleepily nodded... 

I picked him up, put his little arms around my neck, pressed his little body against mine, nuzzled his soft blonde hair and took a step forward.....

The next thing I was aware of was a very hot very wet sensation....

And then brain engaged and I realised he was pissing.  Like a horse. 

I set off at high speed but the whole way out of his room, down the corridor and into the bathroom it just kept on jettisoning out and as he was squashed against me, his willy was pointing directly skyward and wee was issuing forth in something of a torrent, right up to the height of my chin, and then running back down my body, down legs - frankly down everywhere.  

By the time I had him positioned over the toilet I was literally dripping in piss.  

I put him back to bed and surveyed the damage. There was a lot of damage. 

Smelling like a tramp is bad enough but of course the rivulets of urine meant great streaks of my body were now stripped of fake tan.  I knew that I'd wake up looking the delta of the Nile in negative and I'm sure some people would have now taken a full shower and painstakingly re-applied the fake tan but frankly once you get past midnight life is far too short for such concerns.  So I towelled the worst of the wee off and fell asleep.  

There are worse things in life than visually representing a great river basin.  

In the morning I did take a shower (I'm not 'that' bad) but whilst drying my face and towelling my hair I noted the towel smelt particularly fusty.  

Great.  You've guessed it.  It was the wee towel.  

So I got to look like I was suffering a rare skin disease AND smell slightly of urine.  Wow. 

So the moral of my tale is - if you are vain enough to care what tone your skin is, be sensible enough to put clothes on before entering into any situation which could involve getting pissed on.  

Got it? 

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