Thursday, April 7, 2011

Her name was Lola - Part II

I don't know why rubbing St Tropez fake tan into my calves makes me sing Barry Manilow songs... but it do.

I really wanted to call it a night and just hop into bed with some Will & Grace episodes but then I thought "no dom, you owe it to everyone. mostly yourself. you look pale... me no likey."

Apparently there's a claim floating around that it won't get streaky. For me, that just means I had a licence to get free and easy with the stuff. It is all over me, and it's looking pretty brown on me from where I'm sitting. I was pretty lucky last time around that nothing got onto my bedsheets.

Methinks lightning won't strike twice in this instance.

That's not too much of a problem for me... the only thing I dislike is how easily it sets into my nails. I've scrubbed, but there's a hint of the been-gardening-since-the-70s-and-only-just-washed-my-hands-for-the-first-time-ever about me.

Fingers crossed a few coats of nail polish will sort that situation out!

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