So after meeting Amy for lunch that Saturday, I bit the bullet and on Mer's advice headed straight to Nordstrom where some lovely saleslady took pity on me and whisked me into a fitting room where she brought tons of dresses, shoes, and - God help me - Spanx. I heart Spanx now. After about 30 minutes, I walked out of Nordstrom with a fantastic dress, Spanx, and the cutest slingback, open-toed shoes.
Um, slight problem brainiac. I have the legs of an albino chicken. And said adorable shoes were not pantyhose friendly whatsoever.
And thus began self-improvement tragedy #467.
I began the search for the perfect self-tanner. Not something I was going to have to do every darn morning and smell like chemicals all day, but preferably something I could put on maybe a few days before the reunion and it would be perfect THAT DAY. Some friends tipped me off to this stuff that Elizabeth Arden's spa sells called St. Tropez...well, that turned out to be backordered until the year 2023. Maybe for my next reunion it will show up.
Desperate, I ended up at Sephora where I stood before the gleaming shelves with two of the palest salespeople they had, both recommending different products. I ended up with a Clarins self-tanning "milk" which didn't seem to smell so bad and looked easy to put on. Both of the salespeople had used it before and raved about it.
Well, every night I would tell myself that "this is the night!" and then puss out. Finally, the weekend before I was due to leave for Jersey, I decided that I was going to go for the gusto.
And then I forgot. So Monday morning, I got up a little earlier than normal, exfoliated the hell out of my chicken legs, and then put the self-tanner on so I had a good hour for it to dry before I had to get dressed for work.
It went on like a breeze and actually didn't smell too offensive. I noticed a slight difference right away, and by the time my hour was up I figured I was good to go. I put on some trouser socks and then my ankle boots, then finished up with dark pants and a loose top. Sounds good, right?
It was later that night when I got home that I discovered with great horror that apparently the trouser socks had served almost like a Reynolds Oven Bag on my ankles and feet...causing everything from my lower calves to my toes to be a nice golden brown while the rest of my legs were...well, slightly tinged with color but definitely not nearly as dark as my ankles and feet were.
Oh. My. God.
My history of beauty debacles is well-documented. Rubbing a raw spot on my face with a Buf-Puf. Ripping skin off trying to wax my 'stache at home. Oh, and the infamous hermetic sealing of my panties to my crotch post-waxing. And those are just the highlights.
I decided since it was only Monday, I'd try and exfoliate twice a day until it was time to leave and see how it went. Um, not so good. Not to mention I was surprised at how resilient the skin on my ankles is...there was actually skin LEFT after all the scrubbing. Finally, I resorted to some cut-up lemons and baking soda to try and even things out. The night of the reunion, I kept asking my friend Laura if it was really as bad as I thought it was...and what I got was one of those noncommittal answers like she figured I'd throw myself off of a bridge if she said, "Yeah, looks like shit."
Thankfully, it was dark at the reunion...so no one probably noticed my ankles or my adorable shoes either. Hurumph.
In tomorrow's episode, I'll talk about how you really can go home again...and then discover that your home has been bastardized by the stupid-ass people who bought your home. Not that I'm bitter or anything.