When the sun heats up there on the beach …..

By association of ideas, as beach and sun inevitably tend to go together, it is now the turn of my heliophobia (sun fear). I hate sun and tanning. The only two people that my mind allows to have tanned skin are Farrah Fawcett, without whose flowing blonde mane and flawless white teeth the world would have been quite duller and, of course, Julio Iglesias, because an alabaster-like limp hand sticking out of a navy blue jacket is not only disgusting, but it must also contravene some law.


Besides, I suspect that poor thing (Julio) suffers from the opposite phobia: he is a tanorexic (tanning dependence).

As things are, even though it should rain cats and dogs, I never go out without first covering myself in UV-protecting cream with a 100 SPF sunscreen.

Do you think that soothe my heliophobic anxiety and I feel more at ease? You are so wrong! If it is spring and, needless to say, summer, I pull down tight a Pamela hat, bigger than the biggest  spiral-shaped pastry which is typical of Mallorca, my antiglare filter specialised UV sunglasses that protect my eyes from the light-sensitivity and discomfort (later, in other posts I will write about my physical ailments, now I am focusing on the mental ones. Let’s go one step at a time).


Last but not least, I open my janeaustenian white laced parasol, which adds a romantic touch to my summer outfits. This indispensable accessory shades me from the damaging effects of the sun’s ultraviolet rays (do you know that 90% of melanomas appear on hands and ears? How dreadful! You sure as hell will be taken off to Ben-Hur’s valley of the lepers!

Don’t you ever drop your guard in winter: the Sun is a bloody traitor. It is always lurking, waiting to burn you to a crisp and age you prematurely.


I may not have a clue about virtue ethics, as I myself have never known Aristotle’s golden mean. Therefore, always going to extremes and pushing this obsession-fear-phobia-mania of mine  to the limit, I show off my incredibly white face, whiter than a blank sheet of paper (although not enough for my taste), passing over my severe vitamin D deficiency, about which, as you may have guessed, I could not care less. For that deficiency along with my lack of calcium (I will write later about my premature osteoporosis, in the physical disorders’ section ) I take Mastical D,  a supplement.


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