Even my genes hate me.
It's going to be hot tomorrow. 96 degrees of Fahrenheit deliciousness, is what the big-boobed weather lady is telling me. I'm fully aware that if I even try going outside to interact with my fellow human beings, I'm going to burn alive like the lily white boy I appear to be.
You'd think that being 50% Mexican would help me in some way, like some superior genetic benefit allowing me to fly to the Sun and back with nary a sunburn on me. (Oh, you didn't know all Mexicans could fly? Well you do now, you stupid gringo.) Or, more realistically, being able to walk outside for a few hours without my nose turning redder than Rudolph's and getting sunburned.
But you'd be wrong, and I have the currently-peeling nose to prove it.
Can't speak Spanish, can't walk outside without burning, and if I'm being completely honest, I can't fly either. I'm the worst half-Mexican, ever.
You'd think that being 50% Mexican would help me in some way, like some superior genetic benefit allowing me to fly to the Sun and back with nary a sunburn on me. (Oh, you didn't know all Mexicans could fly? Well you do now, you stupid gringo.) Or, more realistically, being able to walk outside for a few hours without my nose turning redder than Rudolph's and getting sunburned.
But you'd be wrong, and I have the currently-peeling nose to prove it.
Can't speak Spanish, can't walk outside without burning, and if I'm being completely honest, I can't fly either. I'm the worst half-Mexican, ever.
posted by John M at 10:53 PM
1 Comments:
Personally, I get annoyed by those uber-happy weather ladies. "And today, there's going to be a 70% chance of damaging thunderstorms!"
You're not the only one who got some crazy genes. I'm supposed to be Irish, and although I have the red hair to prove it, my skin is a different story. I'm shiny and red-toned instead of pale and pretty. Figures.
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