I knew it as I dressed this morning: a telltale, blurry line of pale on paler. It was a demarcation of freckles next to the barest whisper of what could only be described as a suntan. It's not much, mind you; a 'tan' on a strawberry blonde can only be described as the barest blush of color on cream, but it is there, nevertheless.
This afternoon I came home with a sunburn, my skin smelling faintly of chlorine underneath the sunscreen tang.
You see, there's cute, and then there's a six-year-old learning to swim while wearing a shark mask and fins.