Sharks

I hate sharks. I've hated them ever since I saw Jaws when I was 10. By accident. Right before I went swimming in the ocean off the side of a boat the came equipped with a "shark spotter" who would ring a really loud bell if there were swimmers in the water and he caught sight of a fin.  I spent the whole day on the side of the boat, too terrified to enter the murky green home of the killer fish.  I still am. Afraid that is.
This fear of sharks is irrational.  I know it.  As long as I stay out of the ocean, and apparently out of some fresh water rivers too now, I won't become a meal for some giant fish with dead eyes and long razor sharp teeth.  My biggest fear would be that I wouldn't become a meal, per se, but rather, just my arm or leg would become the meal.
I can't even being to imagine the fear of swimming along, or paddling along on my surf board (I don't surf obviously) and looking over straight into the eyes of a great white six inches away in the water. Just typing that previous sentence made my heart rate spike.
So, knowing my fear of sharks, my daughter gave me this little present for my office desk when I was home visiting my family last week.
Because I miss her so much, she knew I would take it and put it on my desk as a way to remember her and feel closer to her.  She also knew what it would do to me psychologically.  Apparently she literally wants to "love me to death"