Fair Trade

     I would gladly trade skins with my wife. She is blessed with an olive complexion...fortunately not the pitted variety. Besides being  low-maintenance, her skin also looks great with a variety of color palettes, including pimiento, almond, garlic and blue cheese.
    I, on the other hand, suffer from an affliction known as "fair skin." My genetic code and northerly point of origin left me with a outer coating reminiscent of the Twilight movie franchise--and I'm not talking about that guy with the flea collar and ice-cube-tray abs. I'm talking about the one who looks like an ice cube. I don't glitter, but my skin is supernaturally efficient at absorbing harmful rays and repelling the active ingredients in sunscreen. I've seen weird little frogs and fish with the same condition. As if that wasn't enough, my skin is also varied in its UV sensitivity. How else could my wife swear on her mother's life that she coated my exterior evenly with sunscreen and yet I still end up looking like I'm wearing pink camouflage? Maybe the military should trademark the pattern in case they ever decide to launch a ground assault in Candy-Land.
     The only redeeming part of a sunburn is the inevitable post-burn-skin-peel. An even burn can produce dead skin sheets almost large enough to re-purpose and reuse, but most people don't share my interest in environmentally responsible plastic-wrap alternatives.
     For some reason, it's more socially acceptable to be fifty pounds overweight, shirtless and tan than it is to be normal size, shirtless and pale. My condition is also fair game for complete strangers to mock publicly. "Dude--you're so white--put a shirt on!" Ummmm...thanks. I wasn't aware of my own skin color.
   
    Oh well, it doesn't matter much--cause I'm going to cover it up with my rubber suit anyway!