Story time: I used to waitress at this seafood restaurant on Shark River in Belmar.
|Fun fact: got fired.|
One day a southern gentleman came up to me and asked why the body of water was called the Shark River. I immediately launched into what I thought was a ridiculous story, all about how Jaws was based on shark attacks on the Jersey Shore and how sharks had swam upriver and killed a young girl.
|Luckily the photographer was there.|
Turns out, the story was not that far-fetched.
It was a little late in the game for this information to make me feel unsafe swimming at home, but it did launch a fascination with Big Things That Swim in the Ocean that lasts to this day. Last year it led me to this book, which I recommend:
Susan Casey is a journalist who stays with biologists stationed at the Farallon Islands, located right off the coast of San Francisco. According to Wikipedia, the average seasonal Great White population at the Farallones hovers between 30-100 sharks.
Which leads me to my birthday.
For over a year now, I've been telling David that allllll I want for my birthday is to go out to San Francisco and take a shark tour. Better yet, jump in one of the cages.
Turns out, David falls into the latter half of the two categories I described at the start of this post. He protested the whole expedition, but I was determined.
And then he got lucky. Weddings came up, and now our entire fall is booked. No trip to swim with sharks for me.
And so I conclude:
You owe me one.