I think most people would agree that the only thing worse than packing is unpacking.
I’ve been trying to complete this dreadful task, but find myself using delay tactics.
For example, I spend long periods of time looking out the window, sighing deeply as I realize the warm Spanish sun no longer shines brightly.
Instead, it’s been replaced by gloomy, gray skies filled with clouds that seem ready to burst at any moment.
I also find myself dialing my mother, who’s still in the land of “tapas,” only so she can hold the phone up and I can hear the ocean waves.
Roxy’s also a bit depressed, but tries to make the best of it by sunbathing on a sunless terrace.
In the meantime, I could swear I hear Marcelo groan in the corner, as he attempts to shoulder the weight of clothes, shoes, bags, and other knick knacks.
Unfortunately, his groans are falling on deaf ears as I procrastinate to the fullest, trying to ignore the pile of clothes that begs to be returned to its proper place.
As I walk into my room, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I look tired.
My eyes seem a bit sad.
Missing my fun in the sun must be affecting me worse than I thought.
Fortunately, I notice how tanned my skin is.
And this makes me smile.
Without giving it another thought, I race for the camera and spend the next half hour taking silly pictures of myself.
Roxy cocks her head to the side as if to ask, “What the heck are you doing?”
I answer her even though she hasn’t really spoken, “Documenting my 2011 Spanish tan.”
The Son walks in at this precise moment.
“Seriously mom, don’t tell me you’re talking to the dog again.”
“Oh, hush. I’m taking a photo of my tan because last year I forgot to do so.”
“What does that have to do with this year?”
“Nothing. I just don’t want another summer to go by without proof that I had a ‘Ban de Soleil for the St. Tropez’ tan.”
“A St. Tropez what?”
“Don’t you have a girlfriend you have to call?”
“Yeah. One who isn’t taking photos of her St. Tropez tan.”
What do they know.
And so, even though these photos aren’t the best, and my sister claims my eyes seem to be oozing sadness, I wanted to share them with you.
Oh, and notice how I’m not wearing any make up.
After all, who needs make up when you’ve got a St. Tropez tan?