I have never been good with fake tan, in allllll of its forms.
Being this white is something I have learnt to love, because trying to change it never ends well.
Sun baking – I don’t enjoy it really, something about purposely laying in direct sunlight turning over every couple of minutes, like a pig on a spit stuffed into an unflattering bikini. Then to end up looking like a bright red Frankfurt sausage and having to endure a pain like no other and wishing you could be utterly naked for the next week.
Spray tans – Something I have tried a couple of times in my life, mainly (and stupidly) for a major event, such as my school formal . . . not ideal. I came out looking like some OTT creature from Geordie Shore, all patchy and smelling revolting.
Now, it has been an awful long time since school formal shenanigans, and with Hayley’s wedding approaching I agreed to give spray tans another go. I had been assured that the whole process has developed and changed over the years and that I wouldn’t have a problem. So there I stood, naked in all my chubby glory, being artfully sprayed from top to toe.
In all honesty, it wasn’t all that bad. Yes I was a little on the orange side of life, but I was even and I didn’t smell THAT bad (okay, it was a bit on the nose, but hey, I’ve smelt worse).
Until I looked at my belly button . . .
Im not a fan of belly buttons at the best of times, but now mine was glowing like a little orange target in the centre of my bump.
It looked like I had been stuffing Cheetos in there to save for later!
Lets just say that sticking my fingers in there to attempt to get the orange off was not enjoyable, like not at all.
I won’t be doing this for the wedding, Im happy to be pale, me and my white little belly button.