“I don’t want to be eaten by a shark.” Doreen was just getting started.
Bob replied blithely, interrupting the Elvis tune he was humming, “Me either. Fortunately, sharks don’t visit Lake Michigan for their vacation.”
The putt-putt of the motor meandered along the shore. Doreen clutched the edge of the aluminum boat, her knuckles white.
“Didn’t you tell me all the Great Lakes connect to the Atlantic?”
“Sure, but any fish would have to jump over Niagara Falls to get here. How many sharks can do that?”
Doreen wasn’t convinced. “I don’t even like boats or the water. Whose idea was this?”
Bob sighed, the Elvis tune fading away. “You said I never take you anywhere and you wanted to see the lake again.”
“Well, I see it. And frankly, it looks exactly like it did thirty years ago. Besides, we could tip over and get eaten alive. Let’s go back to the motel. There won’t be any sharks in the pool.”
Bob shook his head. “The minimum boat rental is for one hour and we got about 55 minutes left. Besides, if we tip over, we could walk to the shore.”
Doreen’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know? We can’t see the bottom and besides–-“
A loud “HONK!” cut her off as a goose landed next to the boat, eyeing them with disdain.
“See?” Bob chuckled. “Even the wildlife are offering you a friendly welcome.”
Doreen sniffed. “Maybe that bird is working with the sharks, helping them find their next meal.”
“Why don’t you take a picture? You can’t tell everyone you saw Lake Michigan and a Canadian goose and then show them a photo of your living room curtains.”
Doreen sighed dramatically, pulling out her phone as the rest of the flock landed right behind their boat, honking a cacophony. Doreen shrieked and bobbled the phone into the water.
Bob stared, aghast. “Well, I hope that picture of your curtains was backed up.”
Doreen, for once, looked sheepish. “Maybe the sharks aren’t the only danger out here.”
Bob considered the motel pool wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
by George Alger
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