Kim Wetter

I’m Visually Obliviously

I’ve started tanning. Not regularly and I don’t look like Snooki but something called “Groupon” convinced me to buy a month’s worth of tanning. Since Eric was off to Belize soon, I figured I’d take the opportunity to go use my tanning Groupon. We walked in, totally clueless, and those tanning bitches took us for all we’re worth. It turns out that “unlimited tanning” means bed levels 1 and 2, which are meant to “maintain color.” The girls looked at me and Eric and knew that we had no color. We’re whiter than white. So somehow, we’re sold on the “level 5” beds, which were least likely to burn our delicate skin. Add on a ridiculously expensive bottle of tanning lotion and I left scratching my head.

It’s been a couple weeks and let’s not pretend I’m tan. I am no longer blindingly white. That counts for something. I mean, I’d give me at least two life points.

I never thought much about how pale I was until college when it was pointed out to me. I’ve always been not visually perceptive. I can’t really describe what I, or anyone else, looks like. Seriously, if you asked me to close my eyes at any given time and explain to you what someone in the room is wearing, I will have no idea. Eye color? Forget about it. This might have been a blessing in disguise.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I always wore a sweatshirt. I moved to Bothell, WA from southern California when I was 8 years old and I joke that I’ve been cold ever since.

One day, while wearing a sweatshirt, I was walking along the outdoor corridors and as I turned left, some girl, whom I had never spoken to, stopped me. She asked me how I always stay so tan. I had zero idea that I wasn’t tan. I took her question for what it was. I gave some response about my body maintaining color or something. Maybe I said something about being from California. Who knows? I continued on, happy as can be, just another day.

I can really only remember being bullied in Middle School one time and it wasn’t bad. In the above instance, I was clearly being made fun of, but I didn’t realize it for 7 or 8 years. Therefore, I look back on it and just think that I am ridiculous. I don’t remember the girl’s name or face, just that interaction. How could I be totally and completely unaware of myself?

I guess it’s not that bad. It saved me from feeling bullied or pushed around. Blissfully ignorant and thinking I’m the shit. Clearly, not much has changed.