I remember the days of boogie boarding and catching waves. I love the ocean. I love the beach. I love how the salt and sand gets locked in your hair and creates effortless beach curls. I hate sharks. I hate that they can see me, when I can’t see them. I hate that my legs look like chum to them. I go to the beach, but I don’t swim. I set my chair in the surf and let the water roll over my feet. The water feels good. It’s warm, and I’m relaxed. Now I have to pee.
The nearest restroom is three miles down the road. I’m at a piss crossroad.
Derek leads me into the water, and is more than happy to report that he just peed. He looks so serene. He goes on to instruct me to “wait for a wave and squat”. I’m annoyed, and not so gently let him know that “I know how to pee in the ocean”. My fear is that a shark will make a buffet out of my ass. My fear is relevant. I decide to just “hold it”.
Sharks have been making the NC coast in to a smorgasbord in the past few weeks. Some have lost limbs, some nearly died, and all have been only waist deep in the water. The seventh attack was reported today.
Peeing in the ocean is liberating, but I don’t want to be liberated from my limbs.
Would you swim in shark infested waters?