Wear Your Sunscreen, Kids...

This weekend it was about 110 degrees in Bakersfield. Luckily I didn’t stick around for it – I got the heck out of dodge and went to the beach where it was a beautiful 75 degrees all weekend. But it did remind me of a story…

I didn’t wear my first real bikini until I was 15 years old. I’m sure I had worn them when I was a baby or a little girl, but those don’t count. I’m talking about, itty-bitty, triangle-top, string bikini. Mine was blue with white-polka dots and it had a tiny Winnie-the-Pooh on it.

It was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school, and I was on summer vacation with my best friend, Jessica. It was our last hurrah together, since my family and I would be moving to Bakersfield that fall, and we would be separated. They had invited me on their family trip to Mammoth Mountain, and I was pretty darn excited.

Since Jessica and I were the epitome of obnoxious teenagers at this point in our lives, all we were interested in doing while surrounded by the glory and splendor of the mountains (besides doing our hair and makeup), was tanning by the pool. So that’s what we did. And of course, like a typical teenager who doesn’t need to worry about her skin because she has naught a wrinkle yet, I wore no sunscreen. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was slathering oil on my body like a 50’s greaser.

(Here is a picture of me in the offending bikini. Please don't be creepy because I posted a pic of myself in a bathing suit.) 

A few hours after our tanning session, I already noticed that my skin was feeling uncomfortable and was turning a startling shade of red. Especially the tender skin around my…uh…décolletage…that had never seen the sun before. A few more hours, and I noticed skin puckering and swelling. This could not be good.

I’m not sure what happened overnight, but by the time I woke up the next morning, the blisters on my skin had hardened and cracked in places on my chest. I became aware of this upon trying to roll over in a half-asleep state in the early hours of the morning, and practically falling out of the bed in pain. My movement only made it worse – some of the cracks had started to bleed. It was AWFUL. Most nights I could barely get to sleep, and would just lay awake in bed, moaning in agony.

(Here is a pic of me trying to get into a jacuzzi a day or so later. You can see the look of immense pain on my face, and that was just from the hot water on my burned legs. Please notice the magnificence of that tan line from my shorts, by the way...)

Now imagine me trying to explain to my best friend’s parents what was wrong with me and why I was in so much pain. Of course her mom wanted to look at it to make sure I was really ok, so that added to the awkwardness. Since anything more constricting than a baggy t-shirt was painful for me to wear, I had to go bra-less for the duration of the vacation.

(Here's a closer look at my chest. Still hard to tell, but that white spot in the middle is where only one layer of skin peeled off. The darker red areas are where about three layers came off. Ouch.)

As soon as I got home from our trip, I visited the doctor (another awkward moment), who proceeded to tell me that I had suffered third degree burns on my body and yelled at me for not getting it taken care of sooner. He then gave me an ointment that I had to smear on my cleavage several times a day, that smelled like a bad mix of motor oil and old people, and stung when I put it on. The whole thing was very traumatizing and painful.

(To emphasize my point, here is another pic of me in immense pain). 

Luckily, there was no scarring, and I haven’t had any skin cancer scares or anything like that. Needless to say, I learned my lesson: Fair skin + High Altitude Suntanning – Sunscreen = Burned Boobs. I’ve been wary ever since, about exposing any skin that hasn’t seen sun for a few months. I can’t imagine how the people in the nudist camps do it.