That's right! After the CRAZY week we had here at our house (which I'll blog about more tomorrow), at least I know that I'm not completely nuts! While I was reading the newest "Real Simple" magazine, I came across this word. It means the fear of sharks. Okay, now what I have really isn't a phobia. It's more of a certainty. A certainty that I will be the one person that gets eaten by a shark at any given time at any given locale where the ocean is part of the scenery. This particular part of my very cute nature is extremely frustrating for my adorable husband who takes me all over the world to different beaches and I flat out refuse to get in the water. For example, Hanauma Bay, Hawaii. Tony: "Come snorkel with me!" Amber: "No thank you. I just saw all those very same fish at the aquarium." In Carlsbad, California. Tony: "Amber, come get in the water!" Amber: "I'm good. Just catching some rays." In Destin, Florida. Tony: "Amber, let's go hit the beach!" Amber: "No, thanks. I think they filmed part of "Jaws" here."
To my credit, I did get in the water and went snorkeling with Tony at Trunk Bay in St. John during our cruise last year, but only because visibility was incredible and I'd at least see an attack coming.
Anyway, despite the irrational fear I have of being eaten by a shark, we actually LOVE sharks at our house. Got 'em in the tub. Got the movie. And every year, we faithfully watch Shark Week. At least now, I have a name for it.