Like A Virgin – Sprayed For The Very First Time

Around this time last year I lost my virginity. It only took about five minutes and I was allowed to wear my undies, but had to ditch the bra. It was surprisingly painless, although the sheets were so badly stained afterwards that I had to throw them out. As hard as it may be to believe, and as difficult as this is for me to admit, until last year I’d never had a spray tan.

I know there are others out there who look like I do a month after Labour Day: pale; exhausted and deficient in a multitude of vitamins. Too scared to set foot in a Fabutan, too broke to get on a plane to Cabo, too intimidated to give more than a passing glance at the local Mystic Tan after seeing what was either a bodybuilder or Chippendale dancer emerge, glistening with a mahogany hue.

Then my local eyebrow waxer advertised a spray tan special at her salon the day before a fundraising gala I was attending at the hippie school. I figured that the cost would be offset by not having to buy nylons and signed up for a “medium” tan.

Rather than standing in a booth and having the goo sprayed on me by a machine, my little waxing lady did it herself with something that resembled a James Bond camera pen attached to a hose. Not only did she stand very close to me throughout the process, she also talked the whole time – with her hands.

I didn’t realize it then, but the key to a good spray tan (aside from not having it applied in a closet at a place called Crazy Nails) is slow, even distribution. Mine looked like it had been applied by a serial killer who was prone to seizures. I had splotches, streaks and one ankle was missed completely. Things were looking a little streaky, but my Fairy Tanmother assured me it would blend as it absorbed into my skin.

I was hoping to be transformed into a Sports Illustrated model, but at home I realized the result was more Toddlers & Tiaras (with legs like Sequoias). People, it was not good. My husband took one look at me and belted out a verse of No Woman, No Cry. Something had to be done.

I’d been warned against bathing for ten hours lest I lose some of my bronzed lustre, so I immediately wore out a loofah giving myself a Silkwood shower. The next morning I awoke with umber-smudged linens, but another 20-minute shower erased the last vestiges of my tan. That evening I enjoyed the party in all my pasty glory. Thank god this kind of virginity really does grow back.

Why, Mr. Valentino, it's like looking into a mirror.

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