You’d think that being 53 years old, I would learn some basics of life like look both ways before crossing the street, don’t take any wooden nickels and wear sunscreen. Well, actually I haven’t been run over lately (although I’m sure some are aiming for me) and all the change in my pocket jingles, so that leaves wearing sun screen.

That’s right. I look like a ripe tomato thanks to totally ignoring the lesson I’ve learned over and over since I was in high school. You’d think after the incident at band camp my sophomore year that it would be forever burned (pardon the pun) into my brain to smear some lotion on my skin. It was that summer that I got the nickname “French Fry” which some folks still call me to this day.

It was the heat of summer and I had skinny jaybird legs as white as cottage cheese. I ended up out in the sun all day and by the time I got back to my dorm the damage was done. You could see my legs from the moon they were so bright red. I could barely walk the next day and the rest of the week was sheer agony. And, to beat it all, there happened to be a sun screen commercial on television back at that time with a sunburned kid saying, “I feel like a French fry." That’s all it took for the nickname to stick throughout high school and into college. It even got shortened to Fry, a name many of my old buddies and the band leader still call me.

Flash forward more than 30 years later. I’m outside the county building Wednesday down in Warren County waving a sign at early voting. It was a very pleasant day with a nice breeze so it really didn’t occur to me to put on any cream. However, somewhere around two I felt a sting on the back of my neck and then someone came up to me.

“You’re burned,” he said, squinting at me, his revelation accompanied by a warm flush on my face.

Like locking the coop after the chickens got out, I applied the sun screen. All it did was make my sunburn glow brighter.

“What didn’t I learn?” I lamented, vowing to always wear screen no matter what time of year it was.

Then, as if the burn wasn’t enough, this weekend I feel that tell-tale sting on my upper lip you sometimes get with overexposure. Not a cold sore! I can’t have a cold sore. It’s early voting and I’m running for office. How can I ask folks for votes with a big honking cold sore on my upper lip?

Hey, I’m a regular person. I know that when you talk to someone with a cold sore on your lip, all they can see that whole time is that thing. Sure, you try to look away but you can’t. It’s like it hypnotizes you.

No controversy, no skeletons in the closet, no clandestine cover up. My Watergate may be a cold sore.

Contact Duane Sherrill at news@smithvillereview.com.