What you are about to read is a true story. Real experiences. An Autobiographical passage. Things that happened to us. All true. Bring the PASSSAGE.
‘Just take as much as you want off darl,’ she said, pointing her chipped acrylic nails towards my clothing, ‘and I’ll be back in a sec, ‘right hun? Oh, and Welcome to Tahiti...’
My holidays did not take me to the white tropical beaches of Fiji, or to the banks of a distant land, rich with culture or history. No, my holidays took me nowhere of the sort. Instead I found myself standing half naked in a tanning salon in North Brighton on a Friday afternoon. I imagined what my fellow classmates could be up to and then thought about how my own holidays had turned out...’Lift your arm up sweetie, and hold ya breath.’ As if it wasn’t degrading enough, the woman plugged in a hair dryer and began to dry me. I caught a glimpse in the mirror and saw the strangest thing. An off-coloured, middle aged woman with peroxide hair, squatting on the ground in a small make-shift booth, blow-drying the ankles of what appeared to be a rather stunned looking naked African child wearing a shower cap. Yes. This was perhaps the low point of my holidays. To make matters worse, Georgia’s mother informed us, perhaps a little too eagerly, that there was no time to drop us off at home and would, unfortunately, have to stay in the car while picking up Georgia’s younger brother and friend from school. Bra-less and looking as if we had spent the past 3 weeks in living inside a dust storm, we arrived outside of Brighton Grammar. The boys squeezed themselves, along with their bags and sporting equipment into the backseat. The pungent smell of ‘summer’ was so thick in the confined space; even more unbearably noticeable due to the extra bodies crammed in, that you could almost taste the chemicals on your tongue.
Glad that my red face would not be recognisable behind my newly bronzed skin, we endured 4 and half minutes of cruel, emotional and even physiologically damaging ridicule from not only Georgia’s brother and his friend, but from Lou aswell. For the first time in my life, I truly felt little. It was as if someone had died, and I was experiencing the five signs of grief. Stage one, Denial. Defined as ‘No crying. Not accepting or even acknowledging the loss/situation’. ‘Pppft! I look fine! I’, actually not that, dark...’ However every time I caught my reflection in a mirror, I received a shock to see this dirty-looking midget, wearing what appeared to be my clothing. Stage two, Anger. Defined as ‘feelings of wanting to fight back and or blame another as responsible.’ ‘WHY DID YOU ENCOURAGE ME INTO THINKING THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA, I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO LEAVE THE HOUSE AGAIN!’ Stage three, Bargaining. Defined as ‘Attempting to make deals with spouse/self, or attempting to make deals with God to stop or change the loss. Begging, wishing, praying.’ ‘Everything is going to be fine. I’ll just exfoliate this forty dollars worth of orange-life-ruining-satin-spray off...and, and, have showers on the hour. Problem solved!’ Stage four, Depression. Defined as ‘overwhelming feelings of hopelessness, frustration, bitterness, self pity, mourning loss of person as well as the hopes, dreams and plans for the future. Feeling lack of control, feeling numb. Perhaps feeling suicidal.’ (Heard behind a muffled wail) ‘MY LIFE IS OVER. WHAT’S THE POINT OF EVEN GOING ON? TO FOREVER TRUDGE THE FACE OF THIS EARTH, OUTCASTED AND REJECTED BY SOCIETY, NEVER TO BE, OR FEEL LOVED...?’ Stage five, Acceptance. Defined as ‘Finding the good that can come out of the pain of loss, finding comfort and healing. Our goals turn toward personal growth.’ ‘You know what? I don’t care. Nope. You know what? I look fine, GREAT EVEN!’
Yes. I had finally come to the final stage of grief. Acceptance and with it, an overwhelming sense of newly found confidence and gusto. I felt like shouting out to my judgmental peers, ‘THATS RIGHT, IM ORANGE, WHAT OF IT?’ My tainted complexion had given me a new life, a new attitude and I. Was. Loving. It. Unfortunately, my recently discovered cocky-alter ego was shortly lived. I dolefully watched the orange water trickle down my leg, and gurgle mockingly down the shower drain at me, leaving a pale, dejected, little girl behind. Yes. My holidays were not as luxurious as most, but I discovered something important...Money can certainly, buy you happiness, exactly nine and half day of pure, utter, bronzed-bliss.
BAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA. MEGGA DWEEEEB! <3 it
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