Sharkbait! Ooh-ha-ha!

I’m the first to admit I would just as soon my death be delivered via shark bite than a car wreck or cancer. My friends say I’m crazy. But think- how cool would it be for y’all to say, “I know a girl who got eat by a shark.” And you would relish in it.

The chances are pretty good it could happen, too. My preferred depth of swimming in the ocean is shoulders deep, because that’s right before where the waves break and I don’t have to get beat up by them. I like to be able to bounce off the sandy bottom when one is rolling in and then be able to stand flat footed the rest of the time. Evidently this is the prime feeding area for sharks. I also like to swim late in the day when the sun isn’t so intense.

I’m sure it would be completely terrifying. And it might hurt if he doesn’t hit a major artery first thing. But what’s worse- the terror of being trapped in your car and being cut out while everybody stares or being eaten by a magnificent creature? Slowly wasting away, getting weaker and sicker every day and everybody forcing you to fight it when you just don’t have any more fight in you? Watching their eyes go all liquid and heartbroken when you tell them? No thanks. I’ll take the shark attack. Let there be glory!

So, yeah. You might get to say it someday. Just remember, I died doing what I love. And it was better than the alternative.

Throw a big party. Smuggle booze to the funeral home. Tell your best Amy story. Have a great time, one last time, in honor of me: The Girl Who Swam With Sharks.