It’s one of those sunburns that eats away at your small button nose and delicate pursed lips. It peels back a layer of skin daily till you’re more raw and unnerved than a baby mouse placed in front of stampeding elephants. You sit in your chair at school and pick and pull away at your skin relentlessly till the bell rings.
No amount of fiddling can distract you from the fact that just one hour of unprotected sun exposure caused you to look like your face had been attacked by a cheese grater. And so I slumped my head down and joined the organized chaos that treaded through the Dana Hills hall ways. Thanks to 60 minutes of an overcast day, Mother Nature managed to trick me into thinking sunburn wasn’t possible.
My skin has successfully been scarred to a pale pink and without further hesitation St. Patrick’s Day had arrived. If I didn’t wear green on Thursday to Dana Hills High School, the chances of me making it out alive were slim to none. Thankfully, I remembered my Irish green, which ousted me of countless painful pinches from students galore.