I don’t get in the ocean. It’s lovely and amazing and beautiful and terrifying. Like a million people got bitten by sharks this year. That’s all anyone heard about all summer. Shark bites, shark bites, and the devastatingly substantial increase in the amount of shark attacks. The crazy part is according to the research C and I did on the subject there was a similar amount of shark attacks last year and the year before. At least that was what we found on the internet, and C’s phone has since gotten a weird virus so maybe that website was sketchy to say the least but either way… I don’t know what the truth is about the amount of shark bites but I’m not getting in (and neither are my kids) so it doesn’t much matter.
C and I debated the subject – he assured me the probability of me getting bitten by a shark while at the beach was probably statistically about the same as me winning the lottery.
I laughed at him and told him the following;
I am as scared of sharks as I am many items in the ocean. My fear is equally divided among these oceanic atrocities;
- sharks
- zombies
- sink holes
- rip tides
- sting rays (and skates)
- seaweed
- jellyfish
All that stuff is both appalling and while maybe not factually accurate, I am a relativity reasonable human being and while I logically know there are no zombies in the ocean fear cannot be rationalized. I’ve seen far too many under sea movies of frothy faced carcasses grabbing peoples legs and pulling them down to Davy Jones’s locker not to be able to visualize that happening to me while waist deep. No thank you.
