That I’m a delicate flower, Gentle Reader, is a truth universally acknowledged. Due to the harsh sun whilst working in the concrete business, my skin is no long porcelain white – but it never was, in the summer. I’m rosy red from May through September, burning over and over again, even while huddled in the shade. Further, if the temperature creeps above seventy degrees Farenheit, I begin sweating vast oceans.
I’m not very fond of the summer.
That’s why something as simple as “Sunbathing” was placed upon the list. D’you remember the List?
The Task: Sunbathe
The Execution: Well, I had to take a few precautions before I could expose myself to the sun whose rays are all ablaze with ever-living torment. I had happened to acquire some gauzy print fabric, and so I made myself a long, flowing, kimono. It was lightweight enough to not be a burden to wear, yet covered enough that I wouldn’t have sunburn over my entire body. I also donned a large sun-hat, because of course I did.
I stayed out there for a full half-hour, and as per usual, I could feel my flesh begin to cook. I was sweating heavily enough that I’m sure my sunscreen all washed off. I wasn’t burned – just made ruddy, which I hate – but I wasn’t burned. This time.
The Verdict: NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPE.
That is to say, the warmth wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but I was far too warm, there were insects all over the damned place, and there simply wasn’t a comfortable position to bask in the sun while still able to manage my book.
So: I still detest summer, sweating, and the sun – but, hey, I tried, Gentle Reader.