Hindsight and nerve endings being 20/20, this, to the left, may not have been the best choice.Rubbing lotion in tiny, gentle baby circles on my chest with my fingertips hurts like a bitch that sends me gasping for air.
It's worse than sadomasochism.
There's a pretty good chance that when I get home, I'll be peeling most awe-inspiringly. Like, the sort of awe that you get when you see a burn victim on the streets panhandling for change, compared as to the sort of awe that you get when you see a really great piece of art or drink a perfectly made Cosmopolitan, 1 part Triple Sec, 1 part cranberry juice, and 2 parts premium vodka.
Said Cosmopolitan costs 10 Euro. Said sunburn was absolutely free after round-trip airfare and a hitched bus ride.
Even if you can peel the skin off the back of my thighs and shoulders and write on it like Hannibal's own parchment, will you still love me when I get home?
XOXO
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