Friday Flotsam

FRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR eyerayday!

We went to the fair and you’re getting my leftover photos. Ha! You know how IG will only let you post 10 photos in a carousel? Right, these aren’t them. They’re the leftovers. The flotsam! I see what I did there.

OKAY, can we talk about spray tans? I thiiiiink I’d like to try it. Maybe. Maybe not. Is it weird? Is it gross? Will I look like Ross in the one where he goes to the tanning bed and keeps turning the wrong way and it only sprays the one side of his body over and over and over? How do you know when to turn? Is there a timer? A bell? An announcer? A flag? I’m already stressed.

I WANT to be the person who gets a spray tan once in a while. But I’m just not sure I’m that person. Am I? I have no idea.

My friend Trisha got once recently, and at lunch she looked positively sun-kissed. It was glowy and beautiful. But then of course she said she hated it. THEN she said, “You could try it. But you might hate it. You might feel really weird tan.” THIS IS NOT HELPFUL, YOU GUYS.

Should I get a spray tan? Give it to me straight.

You know, I might not even a spray tan. We’re at our neighborhood pool like, four times a week. Every other day. AND in the mornings for swim lessons. And I do use my Jergens lotion which makes me extra drugstore grandma.

Is a spray tan dumb? I’m starting to rethink this. Will I look like a millennial in Cancun? MTV spring break? Yeah, I can’t get a spray tan. Unless you think I’d look more Everlane, than Cancun! Is there even an ounce of reality in that?

We can talk about something else.

THE POOL. We’ve been going nonstop. And I’m obsessed with how 1995 it feels. Without fail, there’s always a row of four to six of us elementary school moms, sitting in a row in those super low wading pool chairs right in the shallow end. It’s perfection. The ’90s music blares, visors and sunhats shadow the Cheetos stains at the corners of our lips, which we’ll inhale like cave women and then immediately regret eating and complain about the calories. All the elementary school dads are in the water with the kids throwing balls and rings, and there may or may not be wine or gin and tonics in our water bottles.

And we have a system, you see. We memorize what each of our children are wearing that day and every thirty seconds we’ll go, “Okay – red suit, blue goggles, leopard print, polka dots, purple goggles, black rash guard, green rash guard, no shirt. Check! Okay what were you saying about the new Elin Hilderbrand novel?”

So yeah, I might not even need that spray tan.

I’ll probably get one.

PILLOW SLIDE UPDATE. They arrive today.

Hold on! Let me tell you how I came to this semi-psycho decision, if you don’t follow my Stories and already know this definitely-lame story. I saw them on a woman at the pool (of course) IN PERSON. And she looked perfect! She was super stylish in her drapey black pants, her tiny white t-shirt tucked in, blond topknot barely sagging but in that effortlessly cool but not meth way. So I ran up to her and naturally terrified her with my necessary high energy regarding these dumb shoes, and come to find out – we know each other! Which is beside the point. BUT.

BUT – I saw her again two days later in the slides again. And it solidified my decision to purchase them because she was wearing semi-loose faded Levis, this loose vintage graphic tee (but not like, cheugy. it was cool. had a botanical something or other on it.), and a big brown hat. And she’s a mom my age! (in my head she is. she’s probably like, 34.) Aaron thinks they look like the illegitimate children of Crocs, nursing shoes and bedroom slippers. He just asked if I was on the lookout for a matching walker.

(On a related note: joggers are sweatpants.)

So obviously I ordered them and they arrive today and I’ll keep you posted on whether I look summer chic or an awkward 8th grader walking into a spa resort shower for the first time.

Oh! I ordered the Dahlia tubers. (“It’s not a tuber.” Ha! But it is.) They get here Monday. Should I go ahead and get them in the ground and see what happens? Is there enough time for them to root and sprout and even do anything at all? I’ll read the package. You’re busy, no worries. All good. We good. I’m breezy!

. . . But should I?

Weekend plans?

NERTHREN. Besides takeout (pizza), my book (Good Company), hoagie buns from scratch (that’s all Aaron), some bedroom drawers purging (all of us!), the pool (duh), and possibly a thunderstorm this afternoon (please oh please).

From this week, in case you missed it! Two EXTREMELY summer recipes, so I’m going to need to try both as soon as you can. Farro Salad with Cucumbers, Shallots and Mint! And then Coconut Salmon Pouches with Pineapple and Corn. Both painfully simple, and illegally flavorful. But I’m not dramatic about it or anything.

So, about that spray tan…