Dun Nuh, Dun Nuh, Dun-nuh-na-nuh-na-nuh....

In my world of television, this is the most important week of the year.

Two reasons:

1. Jersey Shore is back (don’t even act like that doesn’t excite you)
2. It is Shark Week, beginning Monday (insert my squeal of pure excitement.)

I am deathly afraid of sharks. I developed a complex on the shore of Rye Beach, NH circa summer 1995ish when three detrimental events happened that turned my fascination with sharks into complete and utter terror.

The first incident that shook my shark world was when a sick, baby shark washed up on shore dead. My first reaction? “Oh my god, there is a shark on my beach.” My second? “Poor shark, his family is definitely looking for him.” My third? “Oh My God, an entire clan of sharks are looking for their lost son and are going to take revenge on innocent swimmers because they are going to think we killed him.” My fourth? “I’m never going in the ocean again.” (Clearly I was [just slightly] neurotic, even as a child…) Sharks were no longer a big, scary monster that swam around eating people off the coasts of Australia, California, and Florida; they existed in my very own beach. How rude.

The second incident included all of the neighborhood boys teaching me how to surf in high tide. High tide= big waves. Mind you I was a lot younger than all the boys on the beach, and so when they asked me to do anything I pretty much thought I was the coolest thing in the world. Regardless, when said surf lesson commenced, neighbor boy decided to motivate me by saying: “Pretend each wave has a giant Great White Shark behind it, and if you don’t catch it, the wave shark will eat you.” Great analogy for a seven-year-old, nimrod. Out of the water I went, after a few “Kristin, you can’t show him how scared you are because then you wont be cool, and they will never ask you to hang out with them again” tried on the surf board.

The third event involved inner tubes, cousins, and an accidental, very far out, drifting panic, where I most definitely knew we were in shark territory and also knew if my mother knew how far out we were, she would absolutely kill me. I kicked as hard as I could to get all of us out of deep water, no pun intended. That was it. From then on, I was terrified.

How terrified? I refused to watch any of the following: Jaws (any of them), Deep Blue Sea, Open Water, Megalodon, or Anaconda (same principle, different animal). Similarly, I refused to go on the Jaws ride while on vacation and only went swimming with Dolphins because I knew they could fight off sharks (you’ve seen Flipper, haven’t you?)

Ironically, I love Shark Week. I think it is because I am so scared of sharks, I secretly love learning everything about them. As long as I am not in the water, sharks pose no immediate threat to me…and so, I can enjoy learning about sharks from the comfort and safety of my couch. Similarly, the more I know about sharks, the more I can do to prevent a run in with said shark when out on the open seas. Overall, shark week is the best form of preventative education for me in order to prolong time until my inevitable shark attack.

Also, in completely unrelated, but just as important news…I have come up with a personal solution to my LOL problem. Now, instead of writing out Laugh Out Loud, to show people that I refuse to say LOL in any abbreviated sense, I will simply write “Oh, I just laughed aloud.” Completely different statement. Oddly enough, it doesn’t offend me nearly as much, so were going with it.