STRANGER THAN FICTION: SUN WORSHIP NOT GOOD RELIGION FOR REDHEADS

Every year, doctors and cancer-prevention organizations band together to issue the warning: Prolonged exposure to ultraviolet rays may cause skin damage or melanoma.

They're right, and we all know they're right. More than likely, we know somebody who is leathery, living proof.

But every summer, you'll find my orange hair and porcelain skin at the nearest beach, pool or enclosed patio. Then you'll find my lobster-red body at work with all the rest of the burnt idiots.

I don't know what's wrong with me or why the obsession continues. My sister Jennifer abandoned the dream of a tan long ago, coating herself with at least SP 15 lotion and donning a hat before walking out the door. She "just said no" to skin cancer, while I say maybe it won't happen to me.

The most horrible thing is, I don't belong in a bathing suit. It isn't natural to cram 50 excess pounds of ugly fat into anything made of spandex, much less anything that doesn't cover from head to toe.

I've looked and looked and still haven't found the full-body bathing suit. There are one pieces, two pieces and French bikinis, but no suits providing total coverage.

They'd be too hot anyway.

So I figure, as long as my fat has to be exposed to the world by way of shorts and sleeveless shirts, it may as well be tan. Like I always say, tan cellulite looks better than white cellulite.

Apparently there are other people who feel the same way. My new apartment comes complete with pool privileges at a small body of water definitely not made to accommodate 12 buildings full of people. I've gotten to see a lot of scantily clad folks recently, but no one who looks as bad as I do yet. Darn it.

At least I'm getting some insight into human nature. The following exchange, edited for a family newspaper, took place between a teen-aged boy and his younger brother at the pool last week...

OLDER BOY: Justin, quit grabbing at yourself and go inside to the bathroom.

YOUNGER BOY: I don't have to.

OLDER BOY: Yes you do. Now get back to the house.

YOUNGER BOY: But these shorts are too hard to pull down!

OLDER BOY: Justin, if you don't get back to the house right now, I'm telling Dad that you peed in the water.

YOUNGER BOY (running for the apartment): You better not!

Meanwhile, a mother was screaming at her daughter to put on her water wings as a wino -- who definitely was not an apartment resident -- wandered over to a lawn chair for a better view of the whole scene.

You can't pay for entertainment like that.

But I've really enjoyed going down to the pool this summer, although The Other Half and I sustained third-degree sunburns after an over-enthusiastic tanning session. I'm a sunburn veteran, but, as a dark-haired, brown-eyed person, he isn't used to the sensation of being on fire. Also, he hasn't had the warped satisfaction of pulling off long strips of skin without tearing them.

"Owwww! Don't touch me!" he yelled as I tried to give him a post-tanning hug. "Can't you see I'm burnt?"

What a whiner. I sprayed him down with Solarcaine, a product I've grown to know and love over the years, and then doused myself with Green Stuff with aloe.

I'm not giving up that easily, though. On my next day off, I'll be out there again with all the other sun-worshiping idiots.

One of these days I'll prove that a redhead can have a deep, dark, savage tan.

Or not.

~Heidi Nieland is a member of the Southeast Missourian news staff.