Tanned tattoos?

I have started to accept compliments easier than when I was younger. Sometimes, though, things people say can be a bit disturbing and I really just don't know what to say.

This past weekend while I was on the way back from the Chi (from Kid Sis #1's doctoral graduation), Kid Sis #2 and I were in the restroom getting ready for the long drive ahead. I had on a spaghetti strap-type dress. I still have a really bad looking tan from the incredibly painful burn I had the pleasure of experiencing for the first time at the state meet a month ago.

As I get ready to wash my hands this older lady walked into the restroom -- said she needed to fix her hair from all the wind. Kid Sis #2 walks behind me and notices that my tan is horrific. Looks like I am wearing a wifebeater underneath my black dress. Seriously. It is that bad. She tries to make me feel better by telling me that at least it is not bad from the front side, that I should be relieved that I sat in the stands and only my back received most of the sun.

I guess that was supposed to make me feel more confident -- at least only one part of my body got burned. And at least the front of my body is still the color of the pale backside that rested underneath the shirt I had on that day. At least the brown of my shoulders is not uniform throughout my body. I don't think it had the effect she was looking for.

The older lady was still standing a bit behind us looking in the mirror and doing some things to her very windblown, extremely processed-looking, bleached blonde, old lady hair. I looked at her and smiled saying that I had experienced my first sunburn and now was faced with a bad tan line until I could get to a pool or to somewhere where I would be able to where a differently styled shirt without dying of heat or risking another sunburn.

She then gave what (I believe) was a compliment (at least to her).

Well, it is actually cute. A lot better than those tattoos, that some other people get.

What?! Cute? Was she serious. Perhaps the greasy food was getting to her. Or perhaps the fact that she had some fried hair and some crazy patterned shirt on was a sign that I should disregard anything that came from her peachy-pink blushed face. Or perhaps the sister and I suffered from some type of simultaneous hallucination that caused us to temporarily loose our minds and hear strange information coming from the first person who would come in contact with us.

And since when does a tan equate a body decoration like a tattoo?

Or as a white person, does she know something I don't about bad tans? Is this actually going to stay on my skin indefinitely? Am I going to have a perpetual marking of a razorback tank on my back until the day I leave this earth?

I am off to day 2 of an all day summer track meet. Hopefully I can fix some of this tan today.