Trauma at the spray tanning clinic

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Anyway, in a promise to keep updating and because I’m going all softly softly on the whole accepting dates thing, I’ll just slip in an out-of-sequence post about my spray tan experience.

This was before Mr F, so I’m totally feeling pretty hot and desirable despite the disasters because I have a calendar full of dates for the week.  I may have even wagged my finger at some people and called them ‘girlfriend’, but if I did, I would have given that up real quick in response to their reactions.  Yeah, apparently I don’t wear ‘cocky’ too well.  Obviously some deity or other decided I was getting a bit too cocky and sent Mr F to punish me.

Some sort of mega cosmic karma or something also saw one of those group buying deals pop into my inbox to get a night of speed dating for just $29 (normally $89.95).  I went and had a look at the website and it seems to be constantly running events for all different age groups, so I’m looking forward to picking one and testing it out (and reporting back, of course).

Speaking of those group buying deals, I got one for three spray tans for $24 a little while back and decided to use one. Because everyone knows it’s a proven scientific fact that brown fat looks better than white fat.

You know what you probably shouldn’t do in life?  You probably shouldn’t get a bargain basement spray tan.  That’s what you probably shouldn’t do.

So I arrive at this place and despite its very glamorous name, it is a dingy little shopfront that’s not even open yet, so I have to sit outside in my carefully chosen super-loose caftan thingie hoping it doesn’t blow open to reveal I’m not wearing any knickers.

Finally this dodgy looking guy, fag hanging out of his mouth, opens up the place about an hour and a half after the opening times displayed on the door.  He grunts at me over a threateningly hanging ash and beckons me inside.

Muttering something about “should’ve never signed up to this scam” when he sees my coupon, he orders me into a booth, tells me to strip and put on the paper g-string and wait for him.

Um… wait for him?  “Are you going to spray me?” I ask.

“Do you see anyone else here?” he says.  “You can wait for a female tanner, but there’s no opening for a few days and you’ll lose one of your tans.  Read the small print.  24 hours cancellation policy applies.”

For the sake of $8, I probably should have pulled a bit of dignity out of my caftan and hightailed it out of there, but I couldn’t stand the idea of looking like an albino whale for a day longer and decided to go through with it.

Traumatic is the only way to describe the next fifteen minutes or so as I stood there in my badly fitting g-string while a guy with a gun demanded I lift this fold and that fold and stand in all sorts of vaguely pornographic poses so that he could ensure each bit of flesh got its brown on.  At least he got rid of the fag while he did it.

When it was finally finished and I was left alone with the funny blowdryer tube (“don’t forget to lift up and dry under all the folds or it’ll be streaky” he warns me), I must have stayed in there half an hour because I was too embarrassed to face him again.

The end result was that I looked a little less whale-like and the colour was thankfully natural enough (and streak-free, because I dried the HELL out of all my folds) and it was almost worth the trauma.  I even used the other two coupons later on, but I made SURE a female tanner was available!

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2 responses »

  1. Gawd I’ve missed your humour.

    Egad, that’s about as graceful as my tanning experience.

    I’ve been hitting the gym pretty hard for about 3 months now and was thinking the same thing about browning up but thought I’d go for the natural tan because I tan fairly easily. After mowing the lawn in my bikini and getting a foxy set of tan lines, I was feeling a little bit bold on New Years Day and decided, ‘hey I’ve got 7 acres, I might go for a bit of a bake down the back yard.’ I found a secluded spot down the back and tipped my large cafe umbrella on its side to shield the view from the neighbours house up on the hill and away I went.

    All was going well and I was feeling a bit liberated so decided to dispense with the bikini and rather than replace the tan lines with a new set, I’d have no tan lines at all. BAM.

    I was happily reading my magazine when in the corner of my eye, I caught the neighbour and his friend down in their back paddock, inconspicuously raking his acreage (because, yeah, When you’ve got acres, you need to rake it) and doing their best ‘we totally haven’t noticed the naked chick in her backyard’ look.

    I scooted up behind my umbrella and made for the house after a sufficient time of pretending to be nonchalant only to realise when I got to the house, that the umbrella that was so cleverly angled for a bit of privacy was actually casting a sillhoutte of my endeavours.

    I think I’ll visit your dude instead next time.

    Mwah x

  2. I hate getting a spray tan but my white pasty skin just doesn’t look all that attractive when matched with a glamorous frock. Although, can’t say I have ever had a male give me a spray tan, so kudos to you Patty for giving it a go.

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