When I was a young girl, I was tan. Always. I spent all summer outdoors and would get as brown as a little nut. I was always told I took after my grandfather in that respect...he was 1/4 Cherokee Indian and was so dark that he wasn't called by his Christian name, everyone...from friends and family to co-workers knew him as "Blackie". (I know, horribly un-PC...what can I say, it was a different era.)
Of course, when I was a young girl I also had the metabolism of a hummingbird and was so skinny that my Dad would call me "Slim Pickins". Somewhere between then and now, things have changed.
You grow up, you get a job, you spend the last 15 years of your life in an office without a window. Your only form of illumination the soft glow of your computer screen. Instead of a hummingbird, I have the metabolism of a three-toed sloth. A sleeping three-toed sloth. On Valium.
Also? I am frog-belly white.
This past weekend, I had my monthly luncheon with the ladies. As it was a very pleasant April afternoon, we dined on the patio of our local eating establishment. I spent an hour and half out in a very, very mild spring day. Changing into my pajamas later that evening I noticed this:
I basically have a Rorschach test on my chest.
Jeff think it looks like a big, red butterfly.
Just call me Papillion.
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