New Kid on the Sunblock

Well, there's no question that Summer and I are on the outs.  98° on the dashboard thermometer on the way home yesterday afternoon, and that is just too hot for this time of the year.  In fact, it's too hot for any time of any year, unless you are from Equatorville, Ecuador, and are therefore used to feeling like the world is a frying pan.

But just as some people like the smell of coffee and yet dislike the taste, as much as I disdain summer, it at least brings me ample opportunity to use one of my favorite words.  That word is "ointment," and it's second only to the venerable "d-bag" in my list.  ("Venerable" is third.)

And when do we use the word ointment, everyone? When someone has failed to heed the sensible warnings and gotten themselves a classic sunburn.

This would have been great to send to that "peopleofwalmart.com" website.  We were in the new WM up in Fallston and I saw what appeared to be a man leading a woman with a severe visual handicap around the store.  She had her eyes closed and her hands on his shoulders.  But when I got a better look, she was reaching under his t shirt to apply an OINTMENT to him.  His face, neck and what I could see of the rest of his torso (I wasn't craning my neck to see more, I'll tell you that right now) were RED. I mean redredred. Fire engine red. Crimson, Venetian, Scarlet was he.  He would surely have given a vermilion dollars not to be that sore, because that's the kind of sunburn that makes Rose Madder.

If only he had taken the advice to slather on the  sauce before heading out on a day of pure sun, not a cloud in the sky, and UV warnings on every newscast. Anyone who's ever been burned that way can relate.  It happens to us all, but once burned, SPF 30!