I got a spray tan.

And I have to admit that the process is slightly abnormal. I mean, where else can you undress, other than the shower, and PUT ON a shower cap?

I’m fairly sure other tanners could hear me giggling as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror just before stepping inside the giant booth that sprays bronzing mist from head to toe. I read the instructions at least three times before hitting the huge green button which resembled a stoplight, knowing once I activate the thing, there would be no going back. I tried to anticipate when the spray would begin by holding my breath, only to have to start over three different times. And no one prepared me for just how cold the solution would be, because there’s nothing better than being misted with bits of ice-cold something or other.

My favorite part? Standing in the ‘stopsign’ position, which means an unnatural turn to the side, with one hand up as if you’re directing traffic, and the other hand dropped to the other side, doing something I’ve never seen before.

Two minutes and a blast of warm air later, I was done, and dried off with a tiny towel the size of a piece of Chicklet gum. The shower cap was tempting, but I figured even my grandmother wouldn’t be caught wearing it out in public, so I tossed it in the trash.

All in all, the silly process gives good results, even if my youngest son took one look at me upon arriving home and said, ‘Mommy, you don’t look the same.’ The things we do just to wear a fancy dress.

Thank goodness the CMA Awards come only once a year.

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