Anyone who knows me (or has even seen a picture) knows I'm white. Like... whiter than white. While my siblings all managed to steal the Estonian genes which allow them to look Latino by the end of summer, I ended up with the pure Irish side. Not that I'll complain-- it means I can pull off red hair where they can't.
Over the years, the whiteness has perpetuated. Once I went to college there was little to no reason for me to go out and tan. In fact, tanning for me is to burn and peal in the hopes that the layers beneath might toughen up before summer's end. When Ido tan I don't so much end up with tan lines, but areas of graduated whiteness. So I stayed indoors, where I read lots of books and refined crafty, crafty skills. Then I went on a mission. Even in the Florida sun my "graduated whitness" lines ended somewhere between my shoulder and elbow, and below midcalf range.
This summer I'm in Phoenix. It's hot. Like HOT hot. It's a good excuse to use the family pass the Wrights have and take the kids swimming a lot. With the security of 50 SPF sunscreen, I went out with them. By the end of last week my back was red as a tomato; my neck was scarlet; my arms were threatening to blister and bubble; my legs... still white as ever. I was amazed. I went out again and again. Nothing.
This week I tried a little experiment. I slathered myself with plenty of sunscreen everywhere, except my legs. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not even a little pink.
My conclusion? I have a superpower! My legs have gotten so white that they reflect the heat of the sun! Who knew, right? I just need to find a way to use these powers for good... and a cool superhero name.