Tan-O-Rama

My friend once gave me some very sage advice: "When you go in the tanning booth, make sure you lift your ass cheeks when you lie down. Otherwise, you get white lines under your butt."
I wondered who the hell would be inspecting possible pale skin under my ass, then remembered that I was entering the bikini zone for the next 3 months, in which every errant strap mark, ingrown pubic hair and (of course) evidence of cellulite would be available for public viewing. Which is why I was at the tanning salon in the first place, giving the Oompa Loompa behind the counter my $70 for 10 visits.
I look good in a tan. Doesn't everyone? But I do worry about leatherface and skin cancer. And I always remember my friend Tina, who was a tanning supastah and every year was literally bronzed by May 1st--no matter what, she was always the darkest. Until one day when we were hanging out by the pool, and she went to scratch her face and her ENTIRE FOREHEAD fell off, giving "peeling" a whole new horrific dimension. Be warned, my brown-skinned honeys!