You'd never know it to look at me, but one of my great-grandmothers was full blooded Native American. My mother (her grand daughter) can go outside for 10 minutes and come back in beautiful shade of brown. My father is a red head. Lucky me, I inherited the very pale European ancestry that goes along with that (burn, peel, burn some more). I was born with red hair myself, though it turned a dark auburn as I got older. Look how cute I was:
Aside from my debilitating allergies, outside is just not my friend. Oh, sure, it looks pretty outside and I do love pretty trees and flowers, but for the most part, I enjoy them more if there's a lovely plate of glass between me and them.
Today was a really beautiful and unseasonably warm day here in Heidelberg. There also happened to be a Flohmarkt (flea market) on the Messeplatz. Now you know I loves me a good flea market, so I drugged myself up with allergy meds (which I am once again allowed to take now that I am almost full term with Han Solo) and off we went. We arrived around 11am and it was PACKED. Holy cow! It was the biggest flea market since this past fall. It was warm though, and being grossly pregnant (okay, not really, but to ME I am) I just wasn't in the mood. There was so much cool stuff, but I didn't feel like talking to anyone or haggling over prices or get close to the many, many bodies that were swarming around me (and some of them smelled terrible). We stayed until around 2pm, when it shut down. This put me outside roughly 3 hours. We went and grabbed some lunch (and ice cream!) and then headed home. James Bond looked at me when we got in the apartment and went "OMG! You are so burned!" What? I looked down and sure enough, my arms were bright red. No wonder my skin was tingly! I pulled up my shirt sleeve and there it was: a farmer burn. This is similar to a farmer tan (you know, the definite line where your sleeves was), only red. Drat. Fortunately, I had a light weight scarf wrapped around my neck, so my chest was protected and my moisturizer has an SPF in (though my face is slightly burned), but my poor arms are cooked. Don't believe me? Check this out:
Pretty, huh? Now I'm certain that I'll go into labor at any moment and every photo of me holding a newborn Han Solo will have my weird farmer burn in it. Sigh. I should know better than to go outside. Outside is just not my friend.