So there I was, swimming around my fave safe space, “The Shallows” of my Mexican cove, 100 miles from nowhere, when this blond surfer girl popped up without warning. Not even a sign saying, “Caution: Blake Lively-infested waters.”
I’ve always been on the husky side, and a little vicious. But a shark has a rep to protect. They don’t call me the Good White, know what I’m saying? I admit I overreacted when I killed that blue whale for saying, “Hot enough for ya?” Hey — if you had 200 teeth and someone said that to you, that would be that.
I was munching on Dead Willy’s carcass when the lady came surfing by. You could tell there was potential for misunderstanding since one of us has a brain the size of a plum, but enough about blondes. She cut herself on the reef. There was blood in the water. Plus, she’s in my space, getting all up in my gills. How would she feel if I showed up at Kappa Delta and asked for her Hulu password? Also, across her thorax, she was wearing a string of yellow floss. Inviting. I nibbled her leg. Sue me, I have a prehistoric side.
But then the damnedest thing happened. She perched on a rock and got chatty. I don’t know who she was talking to. I hear humans talk all the time, but usually they keep it brief — a little “Blergggggh,” a hearty “Aieeeee!” This one started jabbering about her “medical school training” and sewed up the cuts — OK, gashes — with her jewelry. She spent a whole day on the rock as I lazily circled, showing off my dorsal fin. It’s my personal way of saying, “Tip o’ the hat to you, my lady! Soon you will be in my belly!” The sun was barbecuing her medium-rare and I heard her mention “gangrene,” which is what I call “steak sauce.”
The girl kept talking and strategizing as heavy string music played on the soundtrack. This was doubly weird because: a) it made me feel like the bad guy; and b) life doesn’t normally have a soundtrack. Somehow the bitch got hold of a flare gun. Ever had a flare gun fired into your hide? Unpleasant.
Look, I’m willing to let this go. I’m gonna swim back over to her one more time, invite her back to my place to listen to my favorite audiobook fairy tale about the USS Indianapolis. OK? Look, I’m smiling. Why is that ominous music playing again?
