Please don't take my sunshine away!

This weekend I have a wedding to attend. By rule I usually never go to weddings, but that is another story. My good friend has decided to spend the rest of his life, in theory anyway with the wicked witch of the Northeast. No amount of discussions, alcohol and strip clubs have been able to sway his decision to join in holy matrimony with the seed of Satin himself. But it is his life and he asked me to do him the honor of being his best man. Sure, why not.
Lately I have noticed that I am looking rather pale. I thought that I might try one of those tanning places. Normally I am not into fake anything, well, maybe some things fake are OK, but tanning isn’t anything I have ever considered before. But since I have been looking like the Pillsbury doughboy I figured I should at least give it a shot. Why? Because as much as I HATE weddings, there is an upside. Single, unmarried, emotional, lovely ladies. All the friends of the “hag to be” who have been unsuccessful in sinking the hook into a man. So I have to look my best, are you with me?
I show up at the local tanning place (BTW, there are gorgeous chicks that work at and frequent this place) and tell the girl I wanna tan. She starts asking questions like booth or bed, how long, super 70 or regular, on and on. I explain to her my situation and tell her I am looking to get tan quickly. She explains that the preferred method is to do it in steps over a few days. I don’t have that kind of time. She explains that the super 70 booth would probably be the best route, but didn’t recommend anything longer than 5 minutes. I asked her what my choices are. Against her advice, I chose the max aloud by law. 15 minutes in the Super 70 and I should have that nice Coppertone tan.
She points me to my room, which was pretty cool. Stereo and CD player. Mental note to bring CD’s in the future. In the corner is this booth that reminds me of a time machine from one of those old sci-fi movies. I locked the door and undress. Now I wonder about the protocol of tanning. Should I leave the boxers on? What the hell, I have never had a full body tan, so off with the shorts. I turn to my favorite station and enter the metal upright coffin. The walls are lined with huge fluorescent bulbs. I figure out the on switch thingie and as the lord himself had appeared, the entire chamber lit up. As I stand there “in the light” I begin to wonder what exactly do you do while standing there tanning. I decided dancing wouldn’t hurt. There was music so what the heck. So picture this. Me butt ass naked in this tanning both getting my groove on the best I could with the limited space I had. Time flew by and FLASH and POOF. It was dark. The music is still playing as I try and find the door handle to exit this thing. I now realize I am as blind as the 3rd blind mouse. I step out and look into the full sized mirror and see that I look exactly as I did when I entered. What a rip off. I told the girl at the desk that I was not satisfied and I got no tan. She giggled and said see you again. I let her know that I would not be returning because this whole tanning and Super 70 crap were a scam.
As I write you, I am currently covered with Noxzema from head to toe. I noticed when I got home and started to change that not only my tee shirt but drawers were sticking to me, why. I’ll tell you why. I am burnt from head to toe. Little blisters everywhere. I began feeling dizzy so I went to see my doctor and he freaks as I have a severe sunburn. The super 70 does indeed work it appears. My doctor says that I am dizzy because of some equilibrium effect from the sunburn. He says that I should “Take it Easy”. So I sit here undressed shivering with ointment everywhere wondering how in the world I am going to get the tux on? How am I going to get anything on? The worst part of the story is that since I was tanning, dancing and carrying on in the nude like a 60’s flower child, “Jimmy and the twins” were baking away as if they were those 10 minute instant biscuits in an oven. Swollen and tender, I don’t see myself or my “mini me” getting any play this weekend.
I blame this on her. She is evil. I must talk him out of it. This will convince him surely. Well folks, I am off to prepare for the Bachelor Party. No lap dances for