Beet Red is Close to Tan, Right?

I put Mira's note away and decided to check the garage for the bike Tiffany said I could borrow. As it turns out, there were no bicycles in the garage, but there were a pair of blue and white motorcycles.

Once upon a time, I thought that it would be awesome to ride a motorcycle, or at least date a guy who rode a motorcycle. But, I missed the opportunity to date the bad boy when I met Derrick, though he turned out to be at least as bad as the imaginary bad boy the younger me had in mind. Anyway, he said that motorcycles were **** traps and utterly squashed any interest in them. Well, at least that was the case while we were {if husband==true}married{else}together{endif}. Now, I realized, he didn't have a say in the matter. Excited at the idea, I decided that someone would have to teach me to ride them this week.

Closing the door to the garage, I went back to Mira's room and found the bus schedule in the drawer filled with her bikinis, because apparently my little sister decided to bring one for every day of the week. A quick consultation of the schedule showed that I would need to catch the bus headed to Cabo some time after its 5:17 stop to the north.

That meant that I had most of the day to relax at the house, which was probably a good thing.

Six hours later, I was staring at myself in horror and agony in the bathroom mirror. After vacuuming Mira's room and the common area, unloading the dishwasher, the drier, washing the dishes in the sink, and cleaning the grill. I decided that there was nothing left to distract me, save to clean the other girls' rooms and that seemed like an invasion of their privacy. So, I decided to change into my swimsuit, which was a pretty side tie, with a layer of lacy red roses over a white background and adorned with lots of little golden beads. While I had loved the look at the time I bought it, now it was a reminder of The Asshole who {if husband==true}divorced{else}dumped{endif} me. So, I resolved to go shopping for a new one with Mira at some point this week.

That plan was pretty well canceled as I gingerly untied the bikini, letting it fall to the ground and wincing as my brilliantly white breasts sprang free, bouncing lightly, but oh-so-painfully as the scorched skin around them was jostled. The pain was so bad that I shivered, making most of my body feel like pins and needles. You see, after doing all the chores I could find, I finally admitted that I could relax. So, I lay down on one of the lounge chairs and fell asleep in the sun. Considering I burn if I'm outside for a half hour in New York City, four hours in the Mexican sun had left my skin damaged to an inexcusable degree.

"Fuck, Alex. Did you really have to go and get a third-degree sunburn on your very first day in Mexico?"

Regardless of what I intended, it had happened and I'd be paying for it, probably with lots of peeling skin, for the rest of the vacation.

Gingerly, I undid the bottoms and stepped into the shower, which I left as cold as the water here got and it sort of soothed my damaged skin.