After a summer of non-office job I am excited that my skin has gone a little brown, and strangely it’s doing wonders for my self esteem.
I know, I know. There’s no such thing as a safe tan.
But my pallid office skin was foreign and strange. It wasn’t really me.
It was a sickly version of me, not actually sick but definitely deficient.
Now my skin is the colour of childhood. The colour of outdoors, of being active, of meeting people.
The colour of t-shirt tans and lines on my feet, alternately marking out thongs one week and mary janes the next.
New job is wonderful.