The Curse of the Sun

I love being outdoors. Love it. And yesterday I got my first chance to embrace the fact that summer came early (thats what she said) this year. It was about 100 degrees Fahrenheit so I mowed. I took my gloriously white self outside and mowed.

No, this isn't a sunburn blog. I know, I've probably done it before probably several times, actually, but four or so hours in a bathing suit and I am burn free thank you very much. The sun issue I am lamenting didn't pop up until this morning, or else I didn't notice it until this morning, which is equally as bad.

I am covered with tiny, tiny hives.

Thats right folks, not only am I superty duperty fair skinned and awe-strikingly sunburn prone,  I am allergic to the sun! I know, I have strange allergies, blame my mother. I also know that I don't own stock in allergy medicine nor do I have enough dinero to cover one pill a day for the next three to four months so I'm going to suck it up.

I am rubbing dirt on my hives as we speak.

Though I cannot stress how proud I am of not burning any of my milky flesh on my tractor excursion yesterday. I even have my very own version of a tan happening, it's pink, but not painful nor hot (or is it?).

So, reader peeps, join me in celebrating the summer sun with Costco size bottles of SPF 50 and anti-itch cream because its going to be a glorious season.




(Please read this with true enthusiasm, I am not being sarcastic in the post.)