I have long harboured a morbid fascination with sharks and shark attacks. On the rare occasions that I've ventured into the sea after my negligent father allowed me to watch Jaws at the age of 6, I have always been certain that it would be my fate to be dragged under and savaged by a lurking monster. How I envy those people who view the ocean as a delightful playground. If they even think about it at all, they sensibly realise that shark attacks are incredibly rare. They can relax and frolic in the knowledge that the big blue sea is a friendly place.
Well, how fucking wrong can you be. As far as I'm concerned, swimming in the sea is like voluntarily getting into a very big shark tank. Maybe you can't see the tenants yet, but they are out there and to them you look quite like a seal. Of course humans are not the natural prey items of sharks, and I'm sure they do feel a twinge of guilt once they've ripped away your thigh muscle and then abandoned you in disgust for not being blubbery enough.
In my view, our status as possibly the least well-adapted swimmers in all of evolution points to the fact that we should confine ourselves to the beach.
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