Me vs. Mexico

I've never been one to go against Mother Nature.

Ever since I was a wee laddy, I've been infatuated with how nature works within itself and uses the smallest of elements coexisting to create a perfect balance (so long as humans don't screw things up). I've always felt that since I've been so astonished by nature that it would be good to me. I mean, I know certain parts of the wild are, well, wild, but never did I figure it would go all M. Night Shyamalan on me and start striking back.

My trip to Mexico -- specifically, a cruise to Cabo San Lucas -- wasn't supposed to include injury and a full-body need for aloe.

On the anniversary of the day our Founding Fathers chose to commemorate good ol' America's independence from those thieving, cheating, rotten, wig-wearing (wait, we wore wigs too. discount that one), marching-in-lines-during-wars Britons, the Mexican sun decided to give me a little uno-doce combination right across my face and upper body. The fact that I put sunblock on about a half hour into the tanning session did little to change the outcome that has now become my salmon-tinted chest, shoulders and stomach. Unfortunately, I didn't take it with me when we first went out to the deck of the Carnival Elation and didn't think it'd be too bad to just lay out for a few minutes before going back inside and grabbing the lotion.

The true effects of the unprotected sunning didn't show themselves until that night when I walked into my cabin bathroom getting ready for a shower and was amazed at what I saw. I'd show a picture, but, unfortunately, I didn't take one while I was at my orangey-pinkish heights.

Here's the closest thing I could find. I was most like the one in the middle and am now closer to the one on the left. Ironically enough, for the last three days, I've been radiating heat as if I'd been cooked like a fine Alaskan. Mmmm, fish. My mouth just watered a little.