“From here to the British coast.”

“What? You can’t swim the whole Atlantic Ocean! Are you insane?”

“No, why can’t I?”

¬†Shelly was always the pessimist in the group. She never had a positive thing to say, even when the crazy scheme I had concocted wasn’t that bad. I think it was the would-be mother in her that always tried to keep me safe, but really she was the overbearing type. I was going to do this, whether she liked it or not. I only told her that I was doing this because I needed a sounding board, an audible check list to make sure that I had thought of every possible situation that I could encounter, and was adequately prepared.

“You will get eaten by a shark. Chomped right in half, like that movie.”

I knew that if I sighed or groaned in annoyance, Shelly would have a meltdown. A raised eyebrow was my best response, indicating that she was being ridiculous.

“Shelly, I’m going in October. All sharks and most larger mammals will have migrated south, far from where I’ll be swimming.”

“What about icebergs? I heard that one drifted down past Newfoundland last year.”

Oh, Shelly.