last month, found self explaining to S that i’d been sunburnt too often and in too many different configurations of necklines that my skin resembled stained glass. and afterwards thinking he (anyone!) must think that pretty outlandish a comparison, stained glass forsooth — only it is exactly what it’s like — the overlapping contours of pinks, browns, beiges and whites patchworking skin with sharp-edged demarcation.

redux: that a long tropical upbringing had not conferred insusceptibility to sunburns irks me greatly (surely, to go a ruddy tint from some light kisses of sun rays is a perverse design flaw in human beings; when is my creator going to upgrade me?)

the great swashes of pink gives one pause: perhaps one can have too much of decolletage.