STRANGER THAN FICTION: TANNING LOTION ADVENTURES CAUSE HUSBAND AND WIFE TO SHOW (UN)TRUE COLORS

I'm not exactly sure why The Other Half chose only to apply tanning lotion to his face, but it probably would have been better for him not to attend the upscale dinner with me.

It's nearly the end of summer, thank heavens.

No more shorts. No more of those flirty little tank shirts girls are wearing. No more sandals. Now we ample women can cover up the thigh ripples and arm flab.

And those of us who are a little lazy girls can put away the pumice stones, the foot cream and the Daisy razors.

And, best of all, I can turn in my tanning lotion.

Yes, when I look back on the hot months of 1999, I'll remember it as The Summer of the Faux Tan. The summer I finally looked melanoma in the face, didn't like what I saw and started smoothing that magical potion over my legs in an attempt to avoid pantyhose.

And you KNOW how I feel about pantyhose in the summer. I mean, why not just go out and BEG for a yeast infection?

Of course, The Summer of a Faux Tan got off to a shaky start. My friend Stacy, who keeps an absolutely gorgeous faux tan, referred me to the local upscale department store to get the tanning lotion. Stacy makes a lot more money that I do, so you can imagine my surprise at the cosmetics counter.

ME: Uh, yes, I'd like a bottle of your tanning lotion in the mediumshade, please.

CLERK: Small or large?

ME: Small, just to start.

CLERK: That will be $25.

ME: (Clutching my throat and gasping for air, then composing myself.) I said the small bottle, please.

CLERK: Yes, that's the cost of the small bottle.

ME: (Writing a bad check.) Thank you.

Then there was The Other Half's unfortunate experience with the outrageously expensive tanning lotion. I explained that he had to exfoliate. I also explained that he had to keep from touching anything for 15 minutes after application. It seemed as though he had all the information he needed.

Then I saw him in the morning. Mr. Half's face was completely orange. Not ruddy. Not cappuccino. Orange. As in Tropicana. And we were slated to attend an fancy dinner and awards ceremony that night in Atlanta.

"What in the name of George Hamilton have you done to yourself?" I asked.

He explained that, since he would be wearing a suit to the dinner, he figured nobody would see anything but his face, anyway. Obviously, that's all he needed to tan. How brilliant is that?

He got a few odd stares on his way to the convention center, but luckily it was pretty dark inside the actual dining room. And, contrary to my prediction, his face didn't emit an orange glow.

Of course, I had my own problems with the tanning lotion. That stuff stinks to high heaven. And, as I discovered during my first use, the smell lingers right along with the skin dye.

I scrubbed. I lotioned. I body splashed. Nothing was going to overcome the slightly burnt smell of about a cup of tanning lotion spread all over my body.

I'm not sure how well anyone else could smell it, but paranoia ruled my life for the two days it took for the smell to fade.

I'd walk into a room, cross my legs and give a little sniff.

"Does it smell like something is burning in here?" I'd ask. The people around always said they didn't smell anything, but I know the truth.

They probably gathered in the ladies' room outside my presence, making comments like, "Did you smell Heidi's legs?" and "Heidi's legs were as orange as her husband's face!"

Seriously, though, I think I'm hooked on the ease of simply rubbing lotion anywhere I want tan instead of lying in the hot sun for hours on end. I can avoid the dangers of skin cancer while relaxing in the climate-controlled comfort of my own home.

But if you'll excuse me, I have to go scrub down my legs. Does it smell like something's burning to you?

~Heidi Nieland is a former staff writer for the Southeast Missourian who now lives in Pensacola, Fla.