Yes, my name’s Tanner, but I can reassure you, I am by no ways tan.

If you threw me a woebegone pall and some fangs, I could roll with Dracula’s crew.

The reason it matters is considering my suite ramified has two pools. And if I want to enjoy said pools, I can’t be rockin this milky skin tone.

A group of oompa loompas, who I'll probably resemble without this self-tanner application.
Fingers crossed they let me into their family.

So—for the second time ever—I’m trying self-tanner.

The first time ended up….well, not good. My skin looked oompa loompa-like.

This time, I got some type of foaming lotion. AND, I unquestionably did a little bit of research on the weightier practices of how to wield it.

The key so far is that I moisturized my hands each time surpassing wield the foam, so that—when all said and done—the orange tinge doesn’t stain my hands.

I think I did an okay job, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.

To clarify, I’m by no ways trying to be orange. All I want to do is wastefulness the rest of my soul with my arms, neck, and legs.

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They get a pearly value of sun, so I wanted to match it and get some resemblance of a wiring layer so that—hopefully—I don’t melt like salary on a griddle (like I do every year).

The heady news is that I should get to find out on Sunday when *the fling* comes over to hangout by the pool.

Should be a fun time and if I do get burned, at least I’ve got someone to lather up the aloe.

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