I just spray tanned my feet

I did, it’s true, I couldn’t help it. I mean, I could have. I could easily not have put down a paper towel on the floor of my shower and gone to town on these pale dogs here but—wait, am I the kind of person who refers to my fluorescent feet as “pale dogs”? I don’t think so—but anyway, I could have easily not, it’s true. However I fear a swath of translucent foot may appear onscreen tomorrow and I don’t want to be accidentally sending Morse code. At the same time I don’t want to look like someone shoved two carrots out the ends of my pant legs, even though that would be kind of harvesty and seasonally appropriate. If this spray tan experiment goes horribly awry that’s what I’m going to say: “Hello, I’m here to talk about politics and entertainment. I dyed my feet pumpkin orange for the occasion. Boo!” Although now it occurs to me that I could just have said my feet were dressed as ghosts and that’s why they’re so white and “boo!” Dammit!