I’ve always been a fair-skinned girl. I’ve tried the solarium and used every fake tan under the sun but nothing has given me the golden brown I desire.
One of my friends, Kate, always made jokes about my tanning disasters. She’d constantly bring up the “nasty streak on my leg” or my likeness to an “oompa loompa”. Of course I was hurt by these rude remarks.
Kate is a beautiful girl and I’ve always loved her darker skin and hated her for the fact that fake tan actually works for her. I figured it was finally time to pay her back for those nasty comments.
She had a big presentation night to go to, where photographers would be around every corner and anyone who’s anyone would be there. She was telling me how great she’d look and how she was going to use her new St Tropez fake tan (the best you can buy).
I went over to her place a few days before this big event and emptied her St Tropez cream into the toilet and replaced it with my own cheap and nasty fake tan. I was so jealous; I thought it would make me feel better if she knew how I felt.
The day after the big presentation she called me up bawling on the phone, telling me how she had to go to this important night looking like a streaky orange alien. I started feeling horrible, but felt even worse when she told me she’d lost her mum the week before and was so stressed that she’d had a breakdown at the venue.
I couldn’t believe what a vile and vicious person I’d been. All I could do was let her cry and feel the massive guilt hanging on my shoulders.
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