Springtime is somewhat upon us. I say somewhat because I'm not sure whether to go outside wearing shorts and sandals or a parka and snow boots. But hey, that's Missouri! What I am sure of, however, is that my skin has the healthy glow of Elmer's glue and that I won't fit in with the tan crowd at all when I go to Cancun in May.

That's why I have resorted to what is known as the "fake 'n' bake" or the "cancer box" or some other name that should scare people away but no one cares about because it makes them look tan and that's all that matters. Yes, I'm talking about a tanning bed.

I had actually tried a tanning bed several years ago when I had finally had enough of the science club mistaking my legs for a solar eclipse and running inside to get those special viewing lenses.

The end result of my first 10-minute experience was one of the most painful mistakes I had ever made. I got out with a strange tingling sensation all over my body, and for some reason I thought that was completely normal. It was when I got home, took a shower, and began drying myself with a towel that felt like hot knife-shaped coals scraping against my body that I knew something I had gone terribly wrong.

Had I stayed in there too long? Did the tanning bed have Mega-Burn bulbs in it? Did the fact that I had skin pigments genetically identical to a porcelain doll have anything to do with the mishap? Who knows? But I finally decided to give it another shot. Three years of running track had finally taken away my albino-like complex and gave me something to work with.

So I made my way to the nearest tanning place, gave them my $30 for a month's worth of unlimited harmful UV rays, and went back to the tanning bed.

When I set the timer and pressed the "start" button, it gave me an additional three minutes to prepare myself before it turned on. It seems most veteran tanners put special lotions and chemicals on to give them that beautiful Bob Barker glow, but I came with nothing in hand and began getting undressed as if I were about to go through some painful physical.

The tanning bed I was using had apparently not been turned on since the pre-Civil War era, and it felt like I might as well have been lying on a sheet of ice. I then put on those ridiculous looking alien goggles they give you to avoid turning your eyeballs into roasted marshmallows and waited for the inevitable.

As the bed turned on, I began to imagine what would happen if the building suddenly caught fire, causing me to run outside in nothing but a pair of eye goggles.

Eventually the steady hum of the bed lulled me to sleep and, lucky for me, it shut off automatically. Had it not, well ... I honestly don't want to think about it.

Sam DeReign is a graduate of Oran High School and attends Southeast Missouri State University. Contact him at sdereign@ semissourian.com.