Shoes, Ships, and Sealing Wax

Boy is my face red

I don't mean that figuratively, as in, I'm embarrassed (although I probably ought to be). I mean it literally, as in, I sat in shallow left field for the whole baseball game Sunday afternoon without sunscreen or a hat.

It's a little painful to comb my hair, because my scalp is burned. It is excruciatingly painful to walk among the cubes at work and hear people say "Whoa, Nic, got some sun, huh?" over and over and over.

I remember when I got braces in seventh grade, I was a little distressed that people would laugh at me because of how they looked. The day after I had them put on, a friend of mine said "Smile!" When I grudgingly showed him the new hardware, he said "So can you pick up DC101? Do you have to brush your teeth with Ziebart? Can you subcontract your mouth to Amtrak?"...and on he went, every orthodontic taunt ever made, and then some. Halfway through, I was laughing so hard I appeared to be crying, which is when our social studies teacher showed up and reprimanded my friend.

I'm not sure what point I was trying to make there--better to laugh at yourself than care if people stare at you because your face is the color of the Nationals Sunday home jersey? (Bright red, with the interlocking DC trimmed in navy blue and metallic gold, as Charlie would describe it.)

I'm sure today will be the last day anybody comments. It's going to start to peel soon, and even my coworkers won't say "Wow, Nic, looks like you are molting!" (At least, not to my face.)