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Fifty Shades of Tan

Maren Wade’s Confessions of a Showgirl: Fifty Shades of Tan

It all started the day I found The One.

I finally thought I was done looking. Having had my fair share of flings, I was ready to commit. It’s not easy out there. For a showgirl, having that perfect shade of tan is a necessity on which we cannot compromise.

Wait, what did you think I was talking about?

Anyway, there are so many factors to consider when searching for that perfect tan. For instance, do you prefer spray-on or instant body bronze? Let me explain the difference so you can make an educated decision: Spray-on tan is for the serial monogamist. The relationship starts out all dreamy; you bask in the glow of the whirlwind romance; you start making future plans. But ultimately, a couple weeks later, you are left to scrape off the remains of your former self. Instant body bronze is more for the commitment phobes. It’s the quick and dirty daily hook up that can easily be washed away with a shower.

I have a confession to make: I prefer the instant body bronze. Please don’t judge.

Going to the beauty supply store is like perusing So many shades, so little time. Some are too light, others too dark; these are too mellow, those don’t have that spark. After 50 shades, I had fallen in love with that perfect tone of tan. It took a while, but as they say, “When you know, you just know.”

At least, I thought I knew. In the privacy of my home, I couldn’t resist that perfect gold body all toned and glistening. This was unlike anything I had previously experienced. I was ready to take our relationship to the next level. It was time for us to go public. I was going to take him to my show.

I felt confident and sexy. A brand new Porsche with pristine white leather seats picked me up. I loved the car and got in ready for our big night out. Suddenly, we took an unexpected turn. I realized Mr. Perfect Shade of Tan wasn’t so attached to me after all.

Like a bad one-night stand that at first seemed so promising, my tan quickly peeled off in the Porsche, leaving me pale, frightened and embarrassed. As I got out of the car, I saw my perfect tan was no longer perfectly on my legs, but smeared all over the Porsche’s white leather seats. I desperately hoped no one would notice the gold imprint of my derriere on the passenger seat. The valet guy definitely gave me a funny look.

Then and there I knew there was no future for us. I couldn’t believe how quickly Mr. Perfect Shade of Tan had showed his true colors. They say there is a very fine line between pleasure and pain, but perhaps there’s also a fine line between beauty and humiliation. I briefly mourned the loss, then promptly got back in the market.

Because for a showgirl, having that perfect shade of tan is a necessity on which we cannot compromise.


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