My blog expresses my views and thoughts and in no way intends to offend however that does not guarantee it wont.
I write in a stream of consciousness and sometimes the odd typo or bad grammar may appear - please excuse these.
Please feel free to leave a comment if something inspires you to do so.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Way back in the mid 70s I made the mistake of reading a Peter Benchley book called Jaws. This was further compounded by being taken to the movie version of the book on my first official one on one time date by my hubby. I think I have mentioned that in older posts.
Even before reading the book and seeing the movie, I had a fear of sharks. I have never been comfortable swimming in the ocean or even a river because of that fear. Bull sharks which quite often frequent river systems are even more aggressive than Great Whites.
Now I know the chances of being bitten by a shark are infinitesimal, but it doesn't stop my phobia.
When we were on holidays we went swimming in the ocean, well really it is a very shallow, protected bay, but still salt water and still part of the greater Indian Ocean. The whole time I looked for sharks. Here I was trying to enjoy myself with my hubby, eldest grand-daughter and son in law, and all I could think of was sharks. There might be sharks. Every little bit of seaweed that wafted past my legs or feet caused me panic. My hubby pointed out little baby fish swimming around us, then some slightly larger whiting. My thoughts - oh oh, sharks eat fish.
How the hell do I get over this? It drives me insane. I am a grown woman, I know the odds (which I said are so small) and yet my adrenaline is on overtime the whole time I am in the water. Pitiful really.