I have a love-hate relationship with tanning: I'd love to get a proper tan, and I hate that I can never manage it. The problem isn't that my skin doesn't tan, but that by the time it's warm enough to go all-out and sun myself properly Zonker-style, I've already developed a classic "farmer's tan" with color on my neck and forearms and my traditional pasty-white winter complexion elsewhere. That rules out any hunky strutting on the beach, naturally. Luckily—considering we will be forced to take some beach time over the coming months—I'm not doing much lately, so I can devote a few hours a day to toasting myself in the sun's health-giving rays.
(Parents and other persons concerned about my possible skin cancer risks should be advised that none of the preceding paragraph is to be taken particularly seriously.)