Saturday, 20 June 2009

• Sharks terrify the terror out of me

  *Timestamped because I'm going surfing tomorrow and would like to keep all limbs.
  
  Shark week just ended on the Discovery Channel. In remembrance of this occasion, I hereby vow never to set foot in the ocean again. I made this vow half-heartedly last year after getting stung in the foot by a sting ray, but now, neh, I’m done. No more ocean for me.
  
  I’ve already told this to several people, and predictably, they’ve trotted out the normal rebuttals. They usually say one of two things:
  
  1)    You have a greater chance of dying in an airplane crash than getting bit by a shark.
  2)    You won’t die if you are bitten.
  
  
  Rebuttal #1, I easily dismiss. When someone brings chance into the argument, I play their game. Chance only matters when you’re willing to actually take it. I don’t really care, because you know what my chances of getting bit by a shark are? Absolutely ZERO. I’m not getting in the water.
  
  Rebuttal #2, I agree with completely and this only strengthens my reasoning for not getting into the water. See, I learned by watching Shark Week that sharks can only tell you’re not a seal by biting you. As opposed to most predators, who use the four senses not involved with eating, sharks somehow got the wires crossed and taste is their best sense. This is scary.
  
  And if a Great White decides to “taste” you, this isn’t some little lick. One minute you’re just paddling out to a nice set, and then the next, Poof!, your leg pops off as easily as lego in the jaws of a giant torpedo with teeth. You never see it coming, and in a split second, your life probably hasn’t ended but it has forever changed because of a stupid-ass fish who couldn't tell you don't have blubber.
  This is also scary.
  And since I like all my limbs and would prefer to keep them, I’m not getting in the water.
  
  
  
  SCREW.
  THAT.
  
  
  
  
  
  

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