Do I dare to eat a peach?

I woke up this morning with a scratchy, burning feeling around my shoulders. Thinking it to be a reaction to some new detergent we bought, I didn't pay much attention. After a little while, however, I realised that the pain was only concentrated around the shoulders, sparing the rest of the body, which wouldn't have been the case with a contact dermatitis. And then it occurred to me; this was sunburn. I'd spent all of yesterday morning at the pool, either wallowing in the water or sitting by the side, reading. Gently roasting in the sun.

I feel so stupid.

How can I, who grew up in the benevolent sizzle of this desert country, be sunburnt?! I, who spent my childhood years playing football in the sun, and that too, as an idle defender because having flat feet meant you couldn't run fast enough to do anything useful. I, sunburnt? This is very disappointing. Only twenty-six and the implacable rot already set in. What will it be next? My teeth dropping out? Hair shedding itself at the slightest flutter of a laugh? No. From now on, I must only smile. No violent movements. No sudden gestures. All peaches will be boiled before eating. I grow old, I grow old. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

I think I'll go to the library and drown my sorrows in a good book. As soon as it gets a little dark outside.