Strangely, people in Hawaii have no trouble telling that I’m from the mainland. Some of it is the way I move, talk, and dress. Most of it is my complexion. I’m a redhead, right? When I go outside, I tend to burn — well, assuming that I go outside during sunlight at all which isn’t that certain considering twenty years in live theater and then a shift to being an SF author.
Anyway, my mother in law invited me to go out and get a pedicure the other day. The salon she prefers is on the military base so we’re sitting there having our toes done with all of these burly navy and air force guys. As one said, “When you spend all day in boots, nothing beats a pedicure.”
The lady working on me said, “Oh! Your legs are so pale.”
“Yeah…” I’m well aware of the fact that my melanin either clumps in freckles or doesn’t function.
“Your bruises show so much.”
“I think this nail polish will match.”
I mean, she’s right. And I did pick out the irridescent gold/green on my own but, um… It’s a good pedicure though.