Sound: "Changes" by David Bowie
Suddenly, without warning, it's become summer here in Moscow. Temperatures are in the low 80's. The sun is (usually) out. It's light until 10pm. I'm so confused.
I'm not really a summer person. I mean, I love summer activities: beaches, reading in the sun, barbecues, farmers' markets, swimming, etc., but summer and my body don't mix. First off, I am super white. As in, the phrase "skin white as snow" was not actually a description of Snow White, but instead was a prophecy describing me. As as a super white person, I don't get along with the sun. I burn. "But, Morgan! That's okay!" you might say, "your burn will fade into a tan." NO IT WILL NOT. It will fade back into white and then I will burn again, thus creating what I secretly call the "candy cane cycle" (I like the alliteration). So, there's that.
I also have allergies like nobody's business. And, although I thought Moscow was a concrete and glass safe haven, it turns out that there are actually trees here. And flowers. So... allergies. They're everywhere.
Moscow, my winter wonderland, why hast thou forsaken me? And, more importantly, why hast thou pretended to be a good place for my white, allergic self, only to pull a fast one on me during the dwindling days that we remain together? I am so confused.
Suddenly, without warning, it's become summer here in Moscow. Temperatures are in the low 80's. The sun is (usually) out. It's light until 10pm. I'm so confused.
I'm not really a summer person. I mean, I love summer activities: beaches, reading in the sun, barbecues, farmers' markets, swimming, etc., but summer and my body don't mix. First off, I am super white. As in, the phrase "skin white as snow" was not actually a description of Snow White, but instead was a prophecy describing me. As as a super white person, I don't get along with the sun. I burn. "But, Morgan! That's okay!" you might say, "your burn will fade into a tan." NO IT WILL NOT. It will fade back into white and then I will burn again, thus creating what I secretly call the "candy cane cycle" (I like the alliteration). So, there's that.
I also have allergies like nobody's business. And, although I thought Moscow was a concrete and glass safe haven, it turns out that there are actually trees here. And flowers. So... allergies. They're everywhere.
Moscow, my winter wonderland, why hast thou forsaken me? And, more importantly, why hast thou pretended to be a good place for my white, allergic self, only to pull a fast one on me during the dwindling days that we remain together? I am so confused.
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