The Sun Embargo
Here at soliloqueer.com headquarters in North Carolina, we’ve declared a sun embargo. That’s right, within the confines of this apartment, somewhere in the Raleigh-Durham area, the sun is not welcome to peddle its wares.
Why’s that? The sun done me wrong.
Let me take you back two days. I was spending time with some friends in Venice Beach when it was suggested we go out and get some sun on the roof of their building. I’ve been pretty translucent lately and figured a little sun wouldn’t hurt. This would prove to be my first mistake.
We went up there, laid out for a while, relaxed and chatted, and after about half an hour of baking we went back inside.
Shortly after we got back inside, I was standing over my suitcase and looking for a shirt, when one of my friends passed me and asked, “Dude, what’s that?” He then directed my attention to the field of swelling and red bumps that were slowly taking over my chest and left side.
I don’t handle things like this particularly well.
I got in the shower and washed the affected areas with antibacterial soap, then got on the phone with my dad to ask him what he thought it might be. I outlined what I had recently been up to and we came to the conclusion that it was a heat rash. I then also noticed that most of my body was covered with a sunburn that was slowly getting redder and redder.
“Shit man,” one of my friends said, “and you have a flight tomorrow.”
Thanks. Big help.
It was true though. The next morning, I boarded my flight from Los Angeles to Phoenix, and then after an unbearably long layover, I boarded my second flight from Phoenix to Raleigh-Durham. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, flying with a sunburn is the worst thing ever.
I don’t care how much aloe you slather yourself with, it is the suck.
When Howie picked me up from the airport, I declared my sun embargo and the blinds have been closed ever since.